


Karma

by mrain



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, D/s, Dubious Consent, Forced Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-10-21 08:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10681866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrain/pseuds/mrain
Summary: The trolls are invading the south, and there is nothing else Prince Geoffrey can do but to ask the Warlord of Hull for help. But the warlord wants something in return, something Geoffrey might not be ready to give.





	1. Chapter 1

Wolfgan was patrolling the frontiers of Hull, nervous calloused hands twitching, sharp unkind eyes scanning the fences and limits, waiting for a threat that never came. His stallion was huffing, trotting angrily, looking for trouble as much as he was. They made a formidable pair. His hands were bloody from the bear he helped to hunt, but the adrenaline was still pumping in his veins, fierce believers of an invisible enemy.

The only threat to the country nowadays was the occasional ice bear and packs of giant wolves that plagued the villages closer to the mountains. No war, no battles. Wolfgan spent the last seven years making himself known as the scarier warlord to ever been born, and it paid in respect and fear from his enemies. He didn’t need to be here to kill these animals, his soldiers could very much deal with it, he came just for fun. Besides, he knew people liked seeing him around. It gave them the feeling of protection he was glad to provide.

He shifted his attention, without moving his gaze from the horizon, to the fast trot of a horse in the distance. He knew it was Villa without even looking, the man was always desperate on a horse, always worried for some reason. The heavy breathing got closer and Villa tried to scream his message but choked on his own words.

The soldiers accompanying him chuckled at the screeching voice coming from the pale, clumsy guard. He chuckled too at the thought that Villa could be a southerner. He was mighty small for a hullian, with his six feet. Wolfgan had prohibited him from fighting, but he insisted on being at least a messenger or a domestic guard.

“Siath, we’ve captured the whores in the north gate,” he panted. “But Gaghald and Kalifar caught a spy between them, from the south!”

Wolfgan huffed like an old lion to the stressed messenger, and his warriors relaxed when did so. If Wolfgan wasn’t worried, than no one else was.  He nodded from his tall black stallion and the messenger bowed and joined the end of the party, still looking wild but tamer now under his watch. That boy needed a man, but he was very resistant to Kalifar’s advances.

Kalifar was a good captain, but Gaghald was a little brainless and despite being his second in command, only gave him headaches. There were no  _ spies from the south _ , he snorted to himself, only curious little wayward soldiers, sticking their noses in somebody else's business. Wolfgan liked to give those southerners to one of his men, warriors tended to like those pretty mithlornians, and it was amusing to see them trying to escape the clutches of a hullian. Some of them ended up liking it, but usually it scared them so bad they either broke or ran away to spread nasty rumors about Hull.

Good. He didn’t liked to look soft.

He called the small party of soldiers he’d chose to patrol with him, and headed back to the fortress. His fortress. H _ is _ castle and  _ his _ frontiers and  _ his _ territory.

His grandfather was the first barbarian to challenge the old tribe and create an actual empire. Some followed willingly but it took them years to convince the rest old tribe to join them.

Wolfgan was born right in this new, different transition. With time, everyone began to notice the advantages of having a home that you couldn't carry on your back. Twenty-five years old and  carrying on the old man’s legacy, being the warlord of an established territory, he found he liked it. It was great to have a place to call yours, after all. Homes that put roots on the ground and demanded you to look after.

Despite a lot of talking between his soldiers that the wild life was something to miss, Wolfgan found he liked looking after.

But a fight now and then wasn’t much to ask for. These days he only had these petty barbs to solve and wild animals to kill.

Getting closer to the fortress, he took a second to appreciate the building. He had a castle, the Goligan Castle, and it was a new acquisition, but rarely used by himself despite it being his official home. He did like it better than the fortress, but the emptiness usually left him uneasy. Not the emptiness of the castle, but of company. Soldiers, maids, whores… They weren’t good company. It had been impossible to get his father out of the old fortress and into the Goligan Castle, so despite the old man rarely leaving the library where the portrait of his deceased spouse hanged on, Wolfgan slept a lot in there.  _ Poor vaderka. _

Before Wolfgan’s heart could work out an anguished beat at the sad memory, his attention was caught by a commotion on the outside. Women screaming.

Wolfgan got down from his horse, fur cloak blowing with the snowy wind, and he could already see the problem ahead. Gaghald was baiting them like predators circling the prey, Kalifar was looking confused, and those small women weren’t native, they were outsiders. They were terrified.

His soldiers had put them on a line by the stone wall inside the hall of the fortress and they were hurting their little hands clutching the wall for support while his men laughed.  Wolfgan’s heavy boots made a loud sound on the stone floor and his beasts, three forest wolves he raised, came right behind him trying to get his attention.

He could see that Gaghald was in front of someone, and he gave Wolfgan a wicked smile.

“This one you’re gonna like, Siath,” and he cringed inside but didn’t showed it. It was probably a male whore, and Wolgan just wasn’t in the mood to deal with them today.

“Alright, back.  All of you,” he said, in a bored but firm tone. His soldiers immediately took a step back and Gaghald showed him the “whore”. His heart skipped a beat when he realized who it was and he had to restrain himself from taking out his sword and beating Gaghald to a pulp.

“You know who this is, you should have called me before,” he told Gaghald in a drawled voice. The big man shivered at the bad omen. Wolfgan tsked at him and turned to the “whore” grabbing the trembling man by the elbows to forcefully turn him around.

Harles was a tall, eighteen year old boy that was all angles, bones sticking out everywhere. Curly black hair and bluish eyes, he was one of the princes of Mithlond, a country south of Hull. He looked more like the Queen than the King, more delicate than other mithlonders in his manners, but more wicked as well. They said he ran away from his family to become a whore but that didn’t lasted long. Soon after he started to work for the temple of Calim owned by his brother, Prince Geoffrey.

“King Wolfgan,” he said wavery in hullian, with such a weird accent he almost didn’t grasp it. Scared blue eyes looked up at him.

“Harles, what are you doing so far from the temple?” Wolfgan spat, angry. “Where is your brother?”

Harles just shook his head, not understanding a word and searched his clothes for something. He brought out a letter and trusted it in Wolfgan’s hands.

“Geoffrey sent me,” Harles said in his own language, and Wolfgan snached up the letter. Wherever made Geoffrey send Harles into Hull’s fortress just to give him a letter was probably worth to read.

The letter was a simple folded paper that said “ _ King Wolfgan Arylinn Onkmet Voakin, Son of Haomath _ ” in the front and it was sealed with golden wax. Only Geoffrey called him by this long title.

He opened it and was faced with a hullian that Geoffrey had managed to make it look soft even written. Wolfgan never understood his need to do that, but he supposed that, like everything the prince did, it was designed to throw him off his guard. 

The letter opened with a simple “ _ Wolfgan _ .”

It followed:

_ “There is a very important matter that I need to discuss with you, in regards of the Calim land. You will certainly be pleased with what I have to offer, in case you accept this mission. It cannot be said in a letter, however. You need to be here to discuss this with me.” _

The ink got tick, as if it took a lot of time for Geoffrey to spell the words.

_ “You must know, Wolfgan, that you would be the last person I would ever ask help to. But as it happens now, unfortunately, I need you. _

_ Please come.” _

Then, in quick sentences, as he got back to his element.

_ “PS: I would be very grateful if you didn’t punish Harles for trespassing, as giving you my message was his only mission. It would be very kind of you to escort him to the temple at the beginning of the capital. You know he’s no threat, make sure you tell Gaghald the same thing. _

_ I will of course give you a refund for your troubles, in case you do not want to hear about the mission. I have a very priceless sword I made myself, with the gods blessings. Of course, you need to be here to receive it. And I meant  _ you _ , not a messenger, nor a soldier. You bring me Harles, you get shiny gifty.” _

Wolfgan growled at the letter, even as his heart ached in memory of the familiar insults. He wasn't an animal nor a stupid brainless beast. Geoffrey must be itching for trouble, he could almost see his little smirk growing as he wrote these words.

_ “Furthermore, knowing hullian’s inclinations to the male gender, make sure none of your soldiers, nor you, lay hands on Harles. We have a truce that I wouldn’t want to break, and I am sure these men, as well as you, want to have heirs one day. It would be a shame to lose the means to.” _

As if he would touch Harles scrawny arse, Wolfgan snorted. It ended with a quick elegant scrawl.

_ “Sincerely, _

_ Prince Geoffrey Wylcey Mirandir.” _

Wolfgan frowned, pursed his lips, then glanced to the whores. The letter hadn’t mentioned them. He shook his head and called the soldiers. “Take the women to the dungeons. I’ll take Harles to Calim.”

Harles gasped in outrage.

“No! They come with me to the temple!” Harles said, and the soldiers looked at him in confusion, and them to Wolfgan for instructions. Harles turned his pleas for him too. “They were lost, trying to reach Calim’s temple, I swore to show them the way, please!”

Wolfgan tried a huski Mithlorn, temper rising.

“Harles, they’re going to the dungeons and that is my word. Do not challenge it.”

Harles looked at him in defiance.

“I’ll tell Geoffrey!” he squeaked in falty hullian.

Wolfgan huffed, like a very pissed old lion. 

~.~

 

After settling Harles and the whores in a wooden cell connected to the horses, Wolfgan ordered his soldiers to get them some blankets so they wouldn't freeze and went to gather some personal supplies from his own stash he took on every long trip. He stopped at the library to warn his father he was leaving for some time.

“He calls and you go, just like always,” Haomath said  from his seated position on the big poltron. The powerful stature and posture hadn’t left him, though his hair was getting whiter every year, along with the sadness and despair in his eyes. Wolfgan remembered this poltrone, it was his  _ mamka’s _ favorite. He shook his head from the memories, refusing to be caught in the same depression, refusing to look at the portrait on the wall beside him.

“It seems important. He wouldn’t have begged if it wasn’t, you know the creature,” he said, walking away from the comforting warmth of the place. His mamka loved it.

"Yeah, yeah. Oh, and Wolfgan?” His father called.

“Yes?” he said, turning around.

“Tame him this time, eh?” His father laughed. “Show him who’s the Warlord, for once.”

Wolgan smirked. “Yes,  _ vaderka _ ,” he said.

His father wanted him to settle down, and he wasn’t opposed to that as he once were. Hullians came from barbarians. That was true. But they weren’t, mostly. Their system of government was different from most countries out there. Firstly, there wasn’t a king. There was one Warlord and one only. A Warlord was the man that commanded the country with his voice and his sword, and had to be able to take on any other man that challenged him. Also, he had to be on the field, always. So despite that position coming from heritance, he was the Warlord, not his father. Haomath was fifty-two now and he would live a long healthy life because of his giant blood, but he was not in any shape to lead an army.

Not because of age, but because of grief. An unexpected grief, that shouldn't have come as early as it came.

Wolfgan stopped at the door, clenching the frame in his hands. “You… you should move on, vaderka,” he said, in a cautious voice. “It’s been two years. You could still be leading this country with me.”

His father’s eyes went glassy, as they always went when they stepped in this subject.

“I… It feels pointless without him,” he said finally, and Wolfgan’s eyebrows went up at the confession. It was the first time Haomath didn’t straight up ignored him and walked away from the conversation.

Henry had been the most close thing to a motherly figure Wolfgan had and the one that married his father. But he, of course, wasn’t the one that birthed him. Even if he had been a woman, he wouldn't have birthed Wolfgan. Because the Warlord had to be on field, he also couldn’t afford to be hurt or die. It could be the death of their empire. So their family came from a legacy of children born from frost giants. If the child was born a woman, the giants took her away. If it was a man, he would be the next Warlord.

Wolfgan never knew who the one that birthed him was, but it didn’t matter. Henry was his  _ mamka _ . He was worse than Wolfgan in his tantrums sometimes, he remembered, smiling, finally giving in and glancing at the pictured that didn’t do him justice. Elves descendents aged slower in appearance, and despite Henry always denying his elven heritance, his complexion gave it all away. His father could barely handle him, the older he got the better he was in getting his way like any elf did - by persuasion. But he was such a soft spoken man, innocent in his playful ways.

Wolfgan opened his mouth to say something else, but his father shook his head, and went back to his book. He left the library with a heavy heart.

Wolfgan still couldn't handle his death, or rather, his disappearance either. Because that's what really happened. Nothing final. He just vanished into thin air, as if he’d been a dream all along. Two years ago, a cold winter night, a broken bridge and his  _ mamka _ calling in a broken, soft voice…

_ “Do not come any closer, my son.” _

He was barely on his forties, his father was struggling in a battle with a giant and those last words would be carved on the walls of his mind forever.

~.~

When he told Kalifar he’d decided to hear Geoffrey out about this mission, the man winced in sympathy.

Kalifar, who had a long hair that he kept tied and a black beard that he tranced, trotted his horse along with him, in the front line. He supposed his party of soldiers was too big, but you never knew with Southerners. It wasn’t as if he was showing off.

Maybe he was, a little.

“That one, eh?” Kalifar said, walking on thin ice. No one ever knew where the line crossed when the subject was Geoffrey. Wolfgan was confused himself.

One thing was sure, no northern ever wanted to speak with Prince Geoffrey. It was because he could be extremely pleasant, and use that against you. Also because he could manipulate and twist your words when he wanted something from you, and he would never tell you what it was.

Any other person like that wouldn’t survive a week in Hull because they tended to kill first and question later. Geoffrey, however, had a way with hullians no one else had.

Hullians in general descended from mountain giants which was why they were taller than the average human, and the grunts and growls meant more than it seemed to. Mithlonds descended from elves, and that was why they had ridiculous pointed ears like that. Also their language was more sung than said. The hullian language was a pride to the country, because it was the hardest to non-hullians and downright impossible to Mithlorns

The Damned Prince from Mithlond managed to not only learn the language in two months, but to make it  _ soft _ and  _ pleasant _ \- the growls more like moans, the grunts more like sighs - and no northern that meet him ever forgave him for doing that.

_ “Kill him.” _ Wolfgan had said, after Geoffrey walked away from the hall of the castle, swinging his hips in those ridiculous druid clothes that were in no way woman-like, but Wolfgan made a point to tell him that every time they met.  _ “He disrespected you.” _

_ “Of all the things you ever said,” _ Haomath’d drawled with a pensive expression,  _ “That was the greatest one you did not meant.” _

That day, Wolfgan decided he hated Geoffrey. Sometime later he decided he was also irrevocably in love with him, and that’s how he felt about the subject since.

It took some time to realize that he  _ craved _ Geoffrey. And when he did he tried to convince himself that it was just the male body, and not the person.

The whores that were sent to him as gifts to pacify him, he used to experiment with man. The ones that looked wanton, he fucked. The beaten and scared he send away or made servants out of. There was one thing only he wanted to hear when he was inside of a man, and it wasn’t crying.

But every time he lay down with a whore, it was Geoffrey he was thinking of taking, possessing his body with all he had, giving him no choice but to enjoy it. Dominating him entirely.

If Geoffrey was a woman, or any low citizen, Wolfgan would have bought him a long time a ago from his father, and tried to win him when he was secured in the castle. With the way fathers in Mithlond married off daughters like insane men looking for money and status, it would be an easy deal. But that wasn’t the case, he was a royal Prince, so Wolfgan couldn't have him. And if the couldn't have him, he should ignore him.

But at the end of the day, his heart was in such a fragile situation with Geoffrey. He didn’t think even the prince knew how much power he had over him, otherwise he would surely be using that to his advantage.

Wolfgan never really understood why he had to want him of all people. How could anybody actually like that man? That annoying, disrespecting, untamed and uncontrollable creature.

Especially Wolfgan, who liked to control everything he owned.

Kalifar cleared his throat, startling him from his daydreams. The snow was ending in the surreal way that gave Hull country it’s fame, and they were entering Calim’s territory.

“Hullian temper, I suppose.” Kalifar said. “Prince Geoffrey, I mean.” 

Wolfgan nodded.

“You’re right. Hullian temper, mind of a southern. He has always been trouble.”

“Would make a good queen, thought.” Kalifar grinned, using the Mithlorn term. Wolfgan shook his head, smiling softly.

“Make me crazy, that’s what he does.”

~.~

His party arrived in the temple of Calim with very low panic from the citizens.  Actually, most of them bowed for him, and even said some hullian words of praising. Interesting, but supposedly expected since Calim was joined at the hip with Hull. The temple was a big building made to train druids and hunters, different from the ones where priests studied the old books.

Wolfgan saw the people gathered in front of the temple moving inside, while some of them called Geoffrey's name. They seemed wary but trusting. Wolfgan watched a familiar figure walking from inside the temple, and the afternoon sun lazily shone over the long golden hair. Those grey suspicious eyes narrowed over the amount of soldiers Wolfgan brought along, but Geoffrey’s expression and slight nod said he was already expecting it.

The regal creature waited for everyone to settle with a patience Wolfgan didn’t had. He was always so proper, so put together. The right rings on his long aristocratic fingers, the well brushed hair, the soft skin on his pale hand that had never seen the rough end of a well worn sword but certainly knew how to yield an expensive one. His robes weren’t plain ones either. They usually had patches of gold and silver, sewn with several symbols, some for protection others as ornaments. They frustratingly always went over stupid breeches made of strong looking cloth, and Wolfgan always thought they were useless.

His high cheekbones and angular jaw molded a masculine face that was gentle and trusting. Like mages, druids were usually scrawny, but hunters types like Geoffrey had to climb up trees and actually trek the woods more than enough times to give him a more healthy complexion. A mix of druid, hunter and priest, he was slender but he wasn't soft.

“Son of Haomath,” he heard the deep soft voice. Wolfgan trotted his heavy horse from side to side in the green grass of Calim, as greeting. Geoffrey clenched his jaws when he looked past him and to the wooden cage, that rattled as a soldier opened the bars and let the women and Harles past through. His face showed anger but he didn’t said anything. The women and Harles ran inside the temple and out of the hullian's view. The air was tense and Wolfgan wondered if it was all of Geoffrey’s angry aura contained.

He walked down the stairs of the temple as if protecting everything that was inside. People looked at him like he was a saviour and he knew it. Wolfgan had seen the way women looked at him, as if they  _ wanted _ to be in distress for a little of his attention.

To his warriors and the hullian people, Wolfgan was an uncontrollable monster. Except he was a monster on their side and they wanted to keep it that way. He was seven feet of muscles, anger, and pride,  just tickling, waiting to explode at the first opportunity and as often as he could.

To Geoffrey he was a barbaric animal with no morals, no rules and imprevisible. That made Wolfgan want to act like a barbaric animal towards him, but he knew that would only prove his point and make no good.

Wolfgan knew the feeling he caused to others when he walked right up at them. He dismounted his horse, dragging along the three gigantic beasts at his heel. Geoffrey may never run, but he still liked the way he trembled, just a little, when he walked up to him like this. He loved it. Only for Wolfgan, he did that, or at least that’s what he liked to believe. Rationally he chalked it up to his tall and bulky frame, it was intimidating, but sometimes he liked to think it was something more.

Fantasize and imagine was all he could do really, because Geoffrey would rather die than to wake up in his bed everyday, and he knew it. Every time he thought about it a wave of anger went through him, accompanied by something deeper, darker, that he didn’t wanted to call sadness. It was rare for him to see a thing he wanted and not to be allowed to have.

When he got close enough, he stared down at Geoffrey for some seconds, waiting for him to feel small and petty in his presence.

It never worked.

Geoffrey only started right up at him with that little tilt in his lip, as if waiting for him to stop the tantrum.

“Where is my prize?” Wolfgan greeted in tick hullian, face somber and serious, and lifted an eyebrow feigning disgust. The soldier’s eyes widened in apprehension.

Geoffrey smiled, but not in a nice way.  _ Never in a nice way for the Hullians. _ He parted his heavy robe to the side and drew out  a sword that was tucked in his belt. Wolfgan saw the heavy silver glinting in the sun, the warm energy coming from it, and came forward.

“I’d say is good to see you again, but I don’t lie,” he said, in that soft but firm voice of his, that always made Wolfgan’s crotch give a twitch.

_ Kill him _ , a mocking voice said in his head.  _ He disrespected you. _

He took the sword and passed his finger on the carvings. It was hullian.

_ “There is no war in the tribe.”   _ A quote from an frost giant’s legend, about a great frost giant warlord and his weaknesses. His people, his family and his enemies. There was one special sword for each one of them. Wolfgan was impressed by the thoughtful gift, it looked just like the ones in the old drawings.

He showed his gratefulness by getting the letter from his belt the throwing it at Geoffrey’s feet.

With flick of Geoffrey’s fingers, the wind slowly went by and the paper went fluttering in submission into his open hand.

Wolfgan didn't let his amazement show.

_ Look bored. _

“Is that a no?” Geoffrey pouted, folding the letter in his hands and hiding somewhere in his robes. Wolfgan was distracted by the little patch of skin that showed over his hips for a while.

He frowned trying to recall the conversation. “It depends on what you have to offer, and what is it that you seek,” he said at last, noticing the resignation in his voice, hating it.

Geoffrey smiled and turned to the temple.

“Follow me, Warlord. We will discuss this inside where is warmer.”

The words sent a shiver in his spine, but he quickly reminded himself who he was talking too, and focused on looking bored.

“Is  _ Siath,  _ you know it. And what about them?” Wolfgan said, not moving.

Geoffrey turned.

“Your soldiers are welcome to enter. There is food we hunted and prepared for them. But make sure they behave,” Geoffrey said in mithlorn. The mixing of the languages didn’t confused Wolfgan anymore as it once did.

Wolfgan let out a grunt and told his soldiers to follow.


	2. Chapter 2

They entered through the temple and Wolfgan noted a lot of people from mithlorn laying around, completely at ease. Something else he noted was that almost all of them had bruises all over, some still in bandages, still healing.

Geoffrey showed the dinner spread around in low tables by the floor to the soldiers and Wolfgan’s mouth watered at the sight of food. They eated in the travel alright, they were good hunters. But it was something else when it was done with vegetables, herbs and whatever it was that Geoffrey and the others put in the food to make it smell like that.

“Don’t worry. You are free to eat now if you want to, but I saved some for you,” he said, an urgent tone in his voice. “I wish we could talk first, if you don’t mind.”

Wolfgan looked at him. “I don’t mind. Let’s get this over with.”

The temple was a very solid construction made of wood and rock, and the floors were clean as if they spent the whole day mooping it.  It was dirtier now with the soldiers walking all around the place. It was lit with candles and torches everywhere now that the dawn was coming.

They turned into a bad lit corridor and walked up a big set of stairs. Wolfgan could see the sun setting through the small windows along the wall, great and orange behind far away trees. It wasn’t a sun he saw much.

Geoffrey’s hips made a very obvious side to side swing when he walked that Wolfgan wanted to watch the whole day. Knowing Geoffrey, he probably was not only aware, but knew that Wolfgan liked it. He tsked at that and Geoffrey looked back frowning before slowing down when the stairs met the corridor, and entering through a wooden door that was like all the others.

Wolfgan followed.

It was a surprisingly vast room. Constructed in a circle form, there were desks near the walls, leaving the center free to walk through. In the center there were drawn circles in various ways, decorated with symbols. Also, there were mirrors and little square windows high on the walls,. The windows let air circulate but didn’t let a lot of light through. Nevertheless, the fire of the never extinguishing torches and candles made the place clear enough to see and dark enough to stay comfortable.

“This is the study room. It’s quiet and it blocks outside noises. It doesn’t let any noise go out either.” Geoffrey softly said, as if afraid to break the silence. “First timers train spells and summon the gods guidence here.”

The silence was broken any time Wolfgan entered a room. He wasn’t very sneaky. His boots alone made a sound that resounded through the walls, and his armour clicking noises.

Now, from close, Wolfgan could see that Geoffrey wasn’t fine. His normally sharp posture and clean appearance was completely messed up. He had knots in his long hair, stubble was growing wildly in his face. His robes were very simple at best, and he had bags under his eyes. His thirty-five years were showing in the usually jovial face.

His first instinct was to comfort him, but he really didn’t wanted to get in a fight after his long trip.

He settled for walking closer.

“What is wrong?” He tried for soft, but it come out husky instead.

Geoffrey whipped his head towards him, eyes wild and helpless for a moment.

“Do you know why me an Harles live here in Calim land, close to Hull but right in the frontier of Mithlorn?”

He didn’t gave him the chance to answer.

“It’s because my father gave this land to us,” he whispered, looking small and fragile. “If we agreed not to enter his country again.”

Wolfgan pursed his lips, angry with the pathetic king of Mithlorn. “How is it that no one knew about this?”

“Father kept this under wraps. Gossips can hurt a King more than anything. For the people, Harles and I are just druids that decided to take the eunuch path to be pure,” he swallowed, looking away from Wolfgan. “The council made we both disinherited and exiled. I agreed with their terms, it was better this way, considering what happened.”

“Why?” He demanded. “What happened?”

“Is not business of yours!” Geoffrey snapped, to Wolfgan’s confusion.

Wolfgan walked to him but Geoffrey didn’t took a step back so they ended up staring at each other from what had to be an uncomfortable position for Geoffrey since he had to crane his neck. His cheeks were rosy and his breaths were faster now.

“Then why the hell are you telling me?”

“W-well.” Geoffrey actually stuttered. Geoffrey  _ never _ stuttered. It wasn’t, in his words,  _ dignified _ . “It came to our knowledge that a troll group had been raiding the small villages that are scattered along the land.”

Wolfgan nodded slowly while Geoffrey trembled and tried to gather a little of his dignity.

A troll invasion was more like a plague taking over than anything else. They were dumb, ugly hairy creatures that moved around forests, and when they grouped together, usually to the command of a big leader, they went to the bigger cities to find food. That could be anything from bread to vegetables and meat. The more crazy ones would even eat humans, but it wasn’t their preference.

Trolls could take over an entire country given the time and the right luck. They reproduced fast and the younger ones were ready to fight pretty quickly. It was unlucky that they caught the little villages, because they couldn’t defend themselves. A city would handle it better.

If the invasion of the land wasn’t contained fast, they would leak to other places and then it would be impossible to track them all.

On the other hand, Wolfgan thought trolls to be rather pathetic and would be able to handle it easily. If it was his country. But it wasn’t, so he shouldn’t be caring.

“Well, then… You must have noticed the people healing here in the temple. Wolfgan, this land is mine, but all I have to offer these people are a few druids, and some mages. We cannot hold a troll invasion,” he said, shaking his head dejectedly as if disappointed with himself. “Especially a wild one. There aren’t enough hunters nor druids that knows healing to help with the hurt ones. They are all looking for refuge inside the temple and you know how things can get ugly pretty fast when there isn’t enough food.”

So that explained his looks. Geoffrey was probably straining himself hunting animals plus herbs all day, and using core magic to heal the more damaged.

Geoffrey paused and closed his eyes, as if wishing to be anywhere but with Wolfgan. He resented that.

“My offer to is, if you can stop the invasion, I will give this territory to you, Wolfgan. All I ask for you to leave the temple with me so we can continue the training and the rituals for the nine gods,” Geoffrey said. “T- The rest is yours.”

Wolfgan narrowed his eyes.

“What else do you want?”

“That’s it!” he widened his eyes in innocence, then snarled in indignation when Wolfgan lifted an eyebrow at that. “Kill the trolls. Land is yours, temple is mine. Do you understand, barbarian?”

It wasn’t a deal at all. This was Geoffrey giving up the land and practically gifting it to him.  _ Of course  _ he would have to protect  _ any land _ that was his.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked.

Geoffrey took some time to nod. But he did, in that determined way he liked so much.

Wolfgan couldn’t help it. He walked closer until Geoffrey’s back touched the wall. The man looked like a spooked animal, trying to understand the sudden trap. Wolfgan slowly slided his hands down his sides, Geoffrey’s hands hovering in shock over his arms, until he reached his hands under Geoffrey’s bum and squeezed. Geoffrey gasped, outraged. He smirked.

“What if I want something else instead?” he whispered in the druid’s pointed little ears, watching them twitch and blush in confusion.

It was like a button being pressed.

Geoffrey sent a lightning bolt right onto his chest immediately, and he absorbed most of the impact but still took a step back. He had never achieved that before and Wolfgan filled with pride, his own frost giant’s core sucking on the magic release greedily to heal what the same magic damaged.

“Do you have a death wish?” Geoffrey said.

Wolfgan walked back to him, forcing him to press against the wall again.

“You always sound so reluctant.”

“I told you before, I don’t share of your disgusting ways with men,” he said, trying to walk away but Wolfgan caged him again, putting his open palms in the wall right besides Geoffrey’s head. He came closer until he could gaze right into his grey eyes.

He breathed over his mouth while Geoffrey watched him warily, licking his own plump lips instinctively.

“You know what I listen when you say that?  _ ‘I can’t handle Wolfgan because he has such a big tick-’ _ ”

Another bolt.

“Don’t say things like that at the temple!” he snarled, smoothing down his robes and looking anywhere but at Wolfgan’s face. “It’s that the only way your kind know how to deal with people?”

Wolfgan frowned. “That’s not true!”

“How will I know that? Is all I see, Wolfgan,” he said, lips tilting in disgust. “You have yet to prove to me you are anything like your father!”

What was he talking about? Geoffrey advanced towards him and Wolfgan held his position.

“My father?”

“Yes! With his comprehension and empathy I was able to open a temple in Hull, for pilgrims traveling the continent looking for the gods divination, even not believing in the Great Nines. He. Is. A. Good. Man,” he said, pointed finger punctuating the words, poking him in the chest. “ I don’t know about you.”

It seemed that Geoffrey grew more determined with the delay of his acquiescence. If he had used only calm suggestions before, now he was using all his cards. Wolfgan knew what he was trying to do, manipulating him like that. As always he couldn't tell if he found it endearing or annoying.

Geoffrey looked up from under his lashes then, and Wolfgan watched in awe as he hesitated a little, and then put his hands over his wide square chest, over the chain armor. He pressed a little as if testing the resistance. Wolfgan didn’t move, watching like a hawk the new tentative movements. Geoffrey then finally licked his lips again and started to speak in a lower, breathy voice.

“Maybe if you help the helpless once in your life,Wolfgan,” Geoffrey drawled, standing  on his tiptoes slowly. Wolfgan held his breath as Geoffrey used his cards, lips brushing against his, making hard to concentrate on anything. Wolfgan crossed his arms over his back and inclined his head to hear it, in a show of confidence. Inside, he was straining not to take over the older man right there. 

“...Then- then maybe I’ll believe you are a good person after all,” Geoffrey said. Wolfgan watched in dismay his grey eyes widen as if surprised with himself for doing what he did. He started to lean back, tripping over his own foot and Wolfgan caught himself wanting to follow those lips, almost losing his so famous control. He couldn’t help, thought, catching the small hips in a strong grip when Geoffrey tripped, and like a starving man drawing them back to his body. He wanted to feel it again, wanting to see Geoffrey wanting him in the same way he wanted Geoffrey.

But instead of lust and warmth, when he looked into his eyes, they were cold and hard again, marked with that disgust Wolfgan hated.

What a cruel, dirty way Geoffrey played him. It shouldn't matter, shouldn't hurt, but it did. Wolfgan was so tired of this, so tired of Geoffrey dismissing him, using him as if he was spendable, as if he was made of rock. 

Wolfgan wanted to go through hell and back again to see that longing in his eyes one more time, and wasn’t that pathetic? If Trolls looked easy before, now they looked like nothing.

But it was long time due to take control of this situation. He let it go on for too long. Wolfgan lifted his head and straightened his posture, eyes hard and sharp. Geoffrey swallowed dry at his the hard expression. He nodded to himself and turned to walk away but not before laying his final word.

“I accept the deal. Land is mine, temple is yours,” he said. “For now.”

Wanting or not, Geoffrey was on hullian territory now, and Hullians played by different rules.

He smirked softly when the heard the soft little “oh...” behind the closed wooden door. Geoffrey was going to learn to walk on the lines he painted.

~.~


	3. Chapter 3

_ One year ago, Wolfgan found a nymph on his garden. _

_ Or so he thought, at first glance. It had been a tough afternoon, his father hadn’t joined them at yet another hunt for a couple of ogres transpassing the forest. His clothes were damp, there was mud in them, and he’d been circling around the fortress trying to find Haomath so it wasn’t too far of to say stumbling across Wolfgan right then wasn’t very wise.  _

_ Scowling and placing his hand on top of the handle of his sword, he watched the creature from a distance, a safe distance where it couldn’t see him back. The creature was tall for a nymph, slender and male, judging from the broad shoulders. It didn’t notice he was around, to busy joining a bunch of roses in it’s hands and inspecting them. The blond long hair fell all over his back and the gentle, soft white robe adorned with silver painted crochet reminded him of a virgin sacrifice. The nymph, however, proved itself to be an elf when Wolfgan noticed a pointed ear twitch in his direction. Blue-ish grey eyes looked side to side to find the cause of the noise he heard, and Wolfgan was surprised to see the intelligence, the amount of experience in those eyes. _

_ Wolfgan knew now. It had to be Prince Geoffrey, the one that came to open a temple in Hull, and had been staying in the fortress trying to persuade his depressed father with sly, whore-ish manipulations, Wolfgan thought. Elf-ish mannerism that would surely confort his father, Prince for sure knew exactly what the was doing, and he hated to see someone using his weakness against him. _

_ Wolfgan watched him turn his back and go back to touch and analyze the hullian flowers. I had to be him. He left the garden before doing something he’d regret. _

_ The second time he saw him he had been rosy in the cheeks and swaying in his chair every so often, right across from Wolfgan. It lit a strange fire, that sight, but the arrogant words unnerved him who was used to respectful or fearful politeness. This was neither. But yet, he couldn't help his eyes from straying every so often to be beauty’s collarbone that showed when his robes parted, or to the glossy blond hair that escaped from the silk black ribbon he’d tied it with, or from the way those grey eyes lost themselves in his when he searched for them, glazing over, so obviously drunk. _

_ Wolfgan was angry with himself and answered every one of his questions tersely, curt and firm. He knew he was riling up the prince, and in some ways, he wanted that. _

_ Geoffrey kept coming to Hull, not taking a no for an answer. He came too soon after Henry was gone, too soon. The searches were getting sparsed, no one could find him, not even with the fat reward Haomath had promised to give for the finder. It was to a depressed, lost and angry Wolfgan Geoffrey obliviously treated with insults, tantrums and sharps comebacks. Unknowingly enticing and healing the beast inside him with healthy distractions. Wolfgan followed him around like a puppy under the excuse of watching out for the enemy.  _

_ It didn’t took too long for him to understand that they could be so beautiful together, once his prince was tamed. Wolfgan would make sure of cherish and treasure him. He’d been so alone, sometimes he thought he might forget his own name, but Geoffrey could fix that. He was so sure of it. _

_ He wanted him. _

_ The last night he saw him, Wolfgan was sitting on his throne drinking red wine which he didn’t liked at all, but he was given, while the people commemorated his 25th birthday on the vast dining hall. The hall was loud, filled with laughter, music and screams, but his attention was focused on one particular blond head in the crowd. _

_ He looked delectable that night more than any before, because he was dressed in white and because his cheeks were rosy in inebriation and because he not only looked like but he was a virgin. It would be the last time Wolfgan would see him. Wolfgan knew that, he knew Prince Geoffrey, as any other of the royal families of the southern countries, was pure and guarding himself for one day to marry an unworthy woman,  a soft and fragile one that wouldn't be able to take care of him, to give him what he needed.  _

I want him _ , Wolfgan was thinking with himself, while Geoffrey sat in one of the chairs at the wide table, looking confident and smug even as he was surrounded by a thousand of drunken hullians. The temple was being built, and Wolfgan had invited his family to the feast. Wolgan made sure to put some guards around him, but still he thought he was too far away for him to protect.  He should be by his side yet soon he would be too far away to anything else. Geoffrey tipped his head back and laughed at something an old man said.  _

_ Their final night together. _

_ Geoffrey didn’t want him back. _

~.~

 

“Clay-brained orc,” he murmured to the empty room. He closed his eyes and breathed one more time, Wolfgan’s scent was still in the room, making his head spin. A leathery smell, mixed with an animalistic scent. It had something to do with his confidence. Wolfgan had a presence that often muddled his string of thoughts. His figure much reminded him of John, the ogre that worked in the well who had a tick neck and broad shoulders, like a bull. Wolfgan was built like a strong bull, but way taller than John. A giant. A young, reckless and inconsequential giant bull. It unnerved Geoffrey how tall he was, how strong he was, how he treated him like he owned him. 

He wasn’t ugly, exactly. It shouldn’t matter to him but one may argue his strong jaw and straight nose were attractive, if one was slightly drunk. As Geoffrey had been when he saw Wolfgan for the first time. He thought _how funny,_ _that is one good looking giant_ , while he was drinking mead in a business dinner with his father, Siath Haomath and his son, the Great Heir Wolfgan. He couldn't hold distillates well, and it was probably a bad idea to mix alcohol with decisions, but it as well know that one could only build trust with hullians after the third cup of mead. Down the throat of both parts, of course. But he was very sober now, even though his mind was spinning. 

He sighed and paced a little. Not reckless, certainly not inconsequential, if all the battles he won was anything to go by. A good strategist. Geoffrey wouldn’t make business with anyone, only the best Warlord and warrior, the best strategist to take care of Calim land. He made a good choice. And he did what he had to do to get what he wanted. Merely business and politics. 

_ Wolfgan will never find out _ , he assured himself. The contract was vague and the conditions to past the land to another were known by old magic laws, they weren’t written. The only one that knew this excluding himself was his father, and those two would never willingly exchange words with each other. Wolfgan would only receive the written contract, already signed by his blood, and the land would be rightfully his. The land may be only passed on by marriage, but that didn’t meant Geoffrey would have to marry him. 

He nodded to himself. Wolfgan would not find out. His father had no idea how Hullians marriages worked. If he said there were no ceremonies, he would believe him. Wolfgan knew nothing about Calim story, or the stupid marriage barrier his father created to stop him from allying himself to other kingdoms. His father underestimate his wit. If he said to Wolfgan that he had to recite some confusing, old sorcerer's words and bleed a little on a paper, the stupid barbarian would do it. He wouldn't know what they were, probably would think it was a normal contract. And he  _ would do _ it.

Wolfgan would leave him alone after he received the contract, and, hopefully, let him keep the temple. Yes, his father would know him forever as the barbarian’s little wife, but at that point, King Klaus would be shutting his mouth and refusing to let the word out. 

He slumped against the wall and hid his face in his hands. Moaned low and under his breath, in anguish. 

Why seduce him now? It had crossed his mind once or twice to do it - it could be a perfect tool against the barbarian. But the notion of a man his age playing coy to another, younger man always made his gut clench in shame and disgust. He never thought he would do it. Never thought he would feel so desperate, but he was ashamed that he couldn’t protect Calim and just thinking about another mother losing her child to the hunger of a troll and his inability to protect them made him want to swallow his pride and get on his knees and beg for the barbarian’s rescue all over again. 

He traced his fingers in the spot Wolfgan gripped him tight and cringed. It tingled and his whole face burned. His little show only made Wolfgan angrier if what he said was anything to go by and possibly even more obsessed with him.  He knew he crossed a line and Wolfgan would make him pay for it but there was no stepping out now. Once you made a deal with hullians, there was no way back. Breaking his word would only result in him taking over Calim anyway and then a war could start between kingdoms. Geoffrey didn’t wanted that. No, he had to suffer the consequence of his own actions, or the people would suffer for him, and that was unacceptable.

A echoed sound of thumping startled him of his deep thinking. The door opened slowly and Harles tucked his head through the gap, smiling nervously.

“Is he gone?” he asked, looking around. Geoffrey straighten his back and smoothed down his robes, a hand straying to where Wolfgan had groped him. Uncouth, rude, disgusting. His skin tingled. Disgusting. He huffed.

“Yes, the big bad wolf is gone,” he chuckled and then stared at Harles. “You weren’t listening, were you?” he narrowed his eyes at him before combing back with his fingers his long strands of hair that had strayed his face.

“He’s scary,” Harles continued, wisely ignoring the question and his warning tone. “More than you, you know? He’ll stay, though, right? You convinced him to protect us… Right?”

Geoffrey smirked sadly. “Yes, he will stay. I’m sure of it.”

Harles smiled excitedly. He had no idea the amount of things Geoffrey was hiding under the carpet. He smirked.  _ All the things a prince has to do for the people. _

~.~

Geoffrey stood in front of him, hands firmly clasped behind his back as his soldiers stood outside ready to leave. 

“Is it done?” Wolfgan asked, watching the blue magic that surrounded them minutes ago dissapearing. The words were a little tricky to say, unknow to him, and the thrill he felt at his guts when the magic circled him and Geoffrey was overwhelming, in a good way. Geoffrey had handled him the contract and he’d dropped a little of blood in it, and it was a little unusual with land binding contracts. But he would send it to Hull, and it would be protected. 

“Yes, yes,” Geoffrey said, with impatience. “Now tell me, why are there soldiers all over the temple?” 

He had spent the last two days sending letters to Hull to let his father know of his plans, and waiting for a good amount of soldiers to travel to Calim. He had sent some men around to find the trolls position across the land and he had a good plan on how to ambush them. Now it was the time to go. It was very early in the morning, the sun had yet to make an appearance and most people in the temple were sleeping. 

“I put them around and some inside to give you some protection,” he said. “Unless you want trolls barging in and hurting those people lying on their asses around all day.” Geoffrey glared at him, but said nothing.

Wolfgan spotted Vallia walking around trying to listen the conversation and called him forward. The shy man walked closer to the main hall they were in, close to the front doors. Geoffrey smiled.

“This is Vallia. He is a good hunter, but he’s not going with us,” he chose to ignored Vallia sullen look. 

“He will hunt food with other two guards, so you don’t even think about leaving this place,” he added harshly. 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Geoffrey snarled. Wolfgan lifted an eyebrow. 

“Yes, Geoffrey, I think I can.”

Geoffrey glared at him some more before looking away, in a loss of words. He glanced at Vallia. The man looked delighted at the attention and bowed.

“It’s the most honorable thing, to serve you.” Vallia said in wonder. “We hear so much about you…” he trailed off, and looked down at his feet.

Geoffrey cocked his head at Vallia’s words and then looked away, biting his lips and blushing in scandalization. 

“What? You left a mark in Hull, you must know that.” Wolfgan knew he must know exactly what his fame was in Hull.

Geoffrey fiddled with his hands a little watching the soldiers outside the temple getting on their horses.

“How long will you be gone for?” he asked.

Oh, how he longed to hear these words, but from a sleepy Geoffrey in his bed in his castle. Preferably naked.

He sighed. “A week, two at most. I want you to stay inside, always.”

Geoffrey scowled in annoyance. “I won’t stand around the temple, you know I can’t.”

“You are not leaving this temple.”

Geoffrey opened his mouth to talk but Wolfgan touched his cheek gently and Geoffrey went red.

“I liked the way you threw yourself all over me yesterday. You should do it more often, try to convince me to strolls around all you want.”

Geoffrey gaped and slapped his hands away. “I- You know I wasn’t!” he said a little louder. “I’m not a whore, Wolfgan!” 

Vallia chuckled, thinking it all too amusing, as if they were playing with each other. But Wolfgan was sure Geoffrey knew he wasn’t playing.

A soldier approached telling they were ready, and he took the mask a soldier offered. It was a metal-made monster of a mask. Scary on purpose. Along with the fur cloak, the black big mare, and his size, it added to the intimidating presence Wolfgan had to have. Intimidation was one of the most important things in a battle. If you made your enemy doubt himself against you, then you won his mind, and after that everything else crumbled.

Geoffrey who looked in wonder at the monster in front of him. The monster, that was how Geoffrey must picture him in his mind. He traced the pale cheek with a gloved finger one more time.

_ Mine _ , he laughed inside.  _ As sure as the sky is blue. _

“Obey my words,” he said, before walking to his horse. “I will come back soon.” 

Geoffrey watched him from the entrance of the temple, leaning against the door and clutching it nervously. He really looked stressed, and Wolfgan had a suspicion it was more for him then for his people. He tried to shake it out, but it clung like an instinct.

“You’re handling a very dangerous beast, Geoffrey,” said a servant, joining Geoffrey by the large door. It was whispered in mithlond, surely thinking he couldn't understand it. Wolfgan mounted his horse and looked down at him.

Even from afar he could hear the whispered words Geoffrey throwed in the wind

“I know,” Geoffrey said.

He nodded at him and Geoffrey nodded back. His presence was almost eerie, the robes blowing along with his hair, and his face somber. Maybe he was afraid.

~.~


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later found him riding his horse in a forgotten part of Calim, the poor, unkind land. It was said Calim was holy ground, where supposed gods have been killed and born, but despite being pleasantly warm most of the year, it’s sole wasn’t good for growing. Kalifar was making suggestions though, about some places that could be savaged. Wolfgan circled the camp one more time. He had groups of men protecting the abandoned villages, after making themselves the plague and killing anything they found in their way, and they were making camp after the archers took care of a large batch by the forest most of the trolls were coming from. It would take some time, letting the trolls regroup and then following the trails, but Wolfgan felt calm. 

Fighting in Calim feels like protecting Geoffrey, and whenever Geoffrey was at, that was his territory. Those were things he learned about himself, like when he summoned the pale, worn out face pleading for protection in his mind, he felt something bubbling in his chest, a possessive rumble, an animalistic growl that always encouraged his soldiers in a battle, and reddened his vision. Territorial. He felt territorial about Geoffrey.

He worried about him. He knew Geoffrey wasn’t a dog, but he couldn't help but feel a childish urge to put chains around his neck and tie him to his bed in Hull. This place wasn’t safe for him, not because of the trolls. It was a tricky place between Hull and a route to Mithlorn and Wolfgan wanted him out of here because he’d been receiving reports on Mithlornian guards, royal guards riding along Calim, messages passing throught. 

He finished his rounds and that night, when he laid down on the makeshift bed of furs and light mattress, he felt himself swell thinking of Geoffrey.

But he knew the only way of moving Geoffrey from Calim to Hull would be tied up in a saddle or locked inside a carriage. Even then he would probably set the thing on fire before letting himself be taken.

~.~

Geoffrey prepared for bed. His room was in the top of the south tower and it was as simple as all the others. A small bed tucked in a corner, a nightstand  and a simple locker. He remembered a time were his bedroom was so big he could get lost in it, and his bed could hold five of him, and everything was delicate and painted in gold and he had maids to brush his hair and to make his bath. 

He would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t missed it. Looking after oneself was one of the most basic things in the temple, and that was good. That was how everything ran smoothly. Everyone was treated the same, everyone was the same.

He slipped out of his robe, his breaches, and with a silken cloth wrapped around his hips - a luxury he held from royalty as underwear like those were delicately tailored and expensive, so why not use what he had? - he walked to the corner of the room and lit the candles in his small altar for the night goodness. 

He whispered a spell for the light to last the whole night. They shone brighter and the light made his pale, worried face catch his attention on the mirror, and he traced the image cringing. Unkempt, undignified. He had to remember he wasn’t a prince anymore, he didn’t deserved the title but it still hurt him somehow, knowing he wasn’t special after all, didn’t belonged were only the blessed did, ruling the country as the gods wished. He would never rule anything, and while that somehow made him feel relief, it also made him feel abandoned when night after night he came back to his little altar and watched his face in the mirror.

He would brush his hair tomorrow. He would sew his robes tomorrow. He would bask in the sun and plant new roses and bathe in the waterfall… He told himself those things but, since he’d been disowned, those things didn’t seem to matter so much like before. Maybe he was sick. It was certainly making his guts clench looking at his pale face for so long. 

So he closed his eyes and began his prayer, mind immediately painting a picture of Wolfgan in his head, and he unconsciously lit a candle for the abstract wish that formed in his mind. His heart squeezed at the thought of him fighting, and he told himself it was merely worry for his people. Wolfgan was the stronger wall between Calim and destruction. Geoffrey chased away images of Wolgan bleeding on the ground while trolls made their feast and reasoned with himself Wolgan would never let himself be taken down by anything barring the gods himself. He was too arrogant for that. But yet, he prayed for his health and his salvation.

Geoffrey smiled softly at his own foolishness. Why light a candle and pray for a barbarian, one that was past the path of enlightenment? He lit another one, carving Hull’s symbol in it. There. Wolfgan wasn’t special anymore. From now one, Geoffrey prayed for all barbarians… And their Siath. Rational.

He filled the basin with the water of the jar and got lost in the small circles he made with is fingers. He said his prayers.

He said them all, then cried his regrets. He went to sleep.

~.~

It was done. And it was as easy as Wolfgan thought it would be. They had gathered the things first thing in the morning, and up on their horses they were going back to the temple. The trolls were not all dead, but what was left of them could be dealt by the men he assigned to take care of them, in different places. They were building posts, and there was a constant stream of food being delivered by his hunters to those posts. It would take some time to build a good watch, good fences and traps around Calim, but the land wasn’t huge by any means, and they were all pretty used to the old routine they made in the villages of Hull. 

The villages were being reconstructed. Soon the families that took refuge in the temple would be going back to their homes. Wolfgan had fulfilled his promised, it was time to go back to Hull. Time to let Geoffrey go again, but not before collecting one more promise from the elf. An unspoken one, that had been between them for a long time, and he wasn’t above taking it by exercising his power over him now. 

While he was writing another letter to report the situation and ask advice to his father, resting inside the tent they made to rest and hide from the rain falling a little harder from the sky, Wolfgan was interrupted by a very irritating screeching voice, and soon Kalifar parted the flapping entrance of the tent smiling excitedly.

“We caught them. The royal soldiers that’d been walking around close to the black forest, one that looks like a messager and one man from the  _ Mithlornian Council _ ,” Kimat chuckled dubiously. “Well, at least that’s what he’s been screaming at us the whole time.”

Wolfgan smirked. They had been trailing around them like hounds, and while they hid their clues well, no one could complete with hullians when they marked a land. One thing they were great at, it was protecting territory. Geoffrey made a bet on him, and won. 

“Good, bring them here. Only the Councilman and the messenger. Let me talk to them.”

Kalifar disappeared and Ganghald with another soldier called Mal brought a small, chubby man that was bald, and one very tall, with very mithlornian complexion. Those pretty ones. Both were handcuffed with their hands in front of them probably having been tied to his soldiers horses and walked until camp. The pretty southerner’s eyes widened and he tripped over himself looking around the tent as if still trying to understand the sudden ambush.

The bald man was faster, and immediately started talking when he spotted wolfgan in his chair.

“We are mithlorns, we came at king's orders, you cannot capture us, do you understand the king will be-”

“Shut up,” Wolfgan said, and the chubby man’s eyes widened a little when Wolfgan stood up, towering over them.

He walked closer until he was looking straight down at them both, and the blond one swallowed convulsively.

“What's your name?” he asked the bald one. His voice had gone husky and dark from the anger at the man’s insolence.

“Algus Kleiderott, second hand of the head of the Mithlornian Council,” he said, squaring his shoulder and looking up at him. “And you-”

“Algus,” Wolfgan said. “I understand this may have come as news to you, but this land is mine now.”

Algus opened his mouth in agravance and closed it again, looking at the blond man for support. The blond man was too busy gazing intently at his own hands.

“Could we, um, see your contract?” He said at least. “This land is Prince Geoffrey’s land. It was given to him by his father King Klaus Mirandir.” 

Wolfgan circled them, feeling himself smile. “You’ll have to take my word for it,” he laughed. It was always like this. People feared the hullian strength, but underestimated their intelligence. “Geoffrey sent a letter to the king, so don’t act as if you are surprised, Algus.” 

The man pursed his lips, and Wolfgan leaned forward until he could look right into his eyes and send a message through them.  “Don’t try to make an idiot out of me. I’m not very kind,” he drawled, low and clear. “I tend to take care of problems on my own you see, very personally. King Klaus doesn’t want my attention on him.”

“This is an exiled land,” the messenger said at least, with the tone of one reciting the law, not able to look into his eyes. “Those who live here are condemned, but it belongs to Mithlorn.”

Wolfgan tickled his tongue, deadpaning in the same tone as the messenger, but louder. “This is Hull's land. Those who live here are hullians. You are trespassing.”

Algus, the supposed sourcerer head of the council finally exploded into a string of fast spoken indignant screams. “It’s impossible! Impossible, this land cannot be passed on unless by marriage, and I just refuse to believe, we refuse to believe Prince geoffrey would lower himself and do that!”

The blond messager shook his head and rested a palm in his forehead, sobbing.

“Prince Geoffrey…” he trailed off.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, rather harshly. The man looked afraid, almost defeated, but a timid shining hope appeared in his eyes.

“In the letter. I was there myself, Prince Geoffrey promised his hand to you,” he said, looking up at him. “Do you deny it?”

Did Prince Geoffrey promised his hand to him? 

_ What in the hells did you do now, my love… _

Geoffrey needed a leash. Wolfgan stood there, silent, square jaw clenched while the men in front of him squirmed at the sight of the storm in his eyes. Geoffrey had been pulling some strings while no one was looking again. He had thought the bleeding in the contract was strange and the words… Elvish-like. 

Geoffrey wasn’t pulling out of this one. He made himself a trap, a perfect trap and now he would face the consequences.

But back to more pressing matters.

Did he deny it?

Wolfgan narrowed his eyes.“No.”

“Are you saying Geoffrey, Prince Geoffrey agreed to marry you, a hullian, when you got rid of the trolls in Calim?”

Wolfgan paused. Flicked his eyes to Kalifar who was very close to gaping, but started nodding very fast. Wolfgan felt something clench in his stomach. He didn’t know if it was good yet.

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe it. I want to speak with him. I want to speak with Prince”

“You mean my dali. Dali Geoffrey.”

He barked a laugh, suddenly feeling very giddy.

“Why don't we escort you back to the temple and Prince Geoffrey confirms it?” 

And later that night when they were riding back the now familiar way back to the temple, Kalifar joined him on the front line, worried eyes shadowed by the black of the night and the flickering of their torches.

“Are you going to... Hurt him?”

Great. Another one Geoffrey had under his spell. Give it a month and Geoffrey would make himself the white rose in the heart of every one of his soldiers. 

“He will be punished. He’s been needing punishment for too long now” he said, clutching the leather rope till his knuckles were white. “But I’d never hurt what is mine.”

~.~


	5. Chapter 5

The moonlight shone over the pale skin resting on the white pillow. Long eyelashes fluttered but didn’t open, telling Wolfgan his prince was deeply sleeping. Wolfgan invaded the room, tainting the pureness of Geoffrey’s silence with the terrible clacking of his armour, the loud thumping of his boots, but Geoffrey only inhaled deeply, lying on his sides, interlacing his legs with the sheets.

Wolfgan walked closer, eyes caressing the naked legs the sheets failed to cover and let his sword fall on the floor with a loud crashing noise. One hand sunk into the pillow as he hovered upon Geoffrey, and a growl escaped him when a pink tongue wetted those soft lips. 

Geoffrey’s eyes opened. He gasped and choked on a sob before his eyes found Wolfgan. He sat up then, slowly and wary, and put his hands on Wolfgan’s chest over the armour, looking up into his eyes with fear.

“What is it, Geoffrey?” he asked.

“You’re alive,” Geoffrey whispered, resting his head on Wolfgan’s chest, hearing the steady, loud and strong heartbeat. He exhaled, slowly, then looked up at Wolfgan.

“A nightmare,” he said. Wolfgan gritted his teeth at the innocent sleepy look. His hair was a mess, locks falling in front of his face, some stuck to his sweaty skin. Geoffrey looked around the room as if coming back to reality, then back at Wolfgan. The nastiness back into his eyes.

“What are you doing in my room?” Geoffrey said, gathering the sheets around him, hiding his skin from view, and lighting up the candle with a whispered word. 

“I just came back from the camp, and that is how you receive me?” Wolfgan said, drawling and lowering his voice instinctively. 

Instead throwing a tantrum, Geoffrey only stared at him, shrinking a little in the bed and searching his eyes. It must have been the tone of his voice. It was always very clear when he was angry and Geoffrey must have noticed it.

“You should put a robe on, you have guests,” he said, breathing slowly, trying to control himself. He turned around and walked two steps away so Geoffrey could have his privacy. 

“Wolfgan, what has angered you?” Geoffrey said carefully. Wolfgan could hear him moving in the bed, and the soft slap of his feet hitting the floor. “Have I done something to disrespect you?”

“Algus is downstair…” Wolfgan said, slowly untying his gloves from his rough, calloused hands. “He bring me the most wonderful news.”

Wolfgan could hear Geoffrey freezing, but could only imagine his lips trembling. He wanted to smirk, but for this to work, the big bad hullian face would have to stay on.

“Algus? Wolfgan did you mean Algus Kleiderott?” Geoffrey asked, voice breaking. “How did you-”

“I’m married,” Wolfgan growled, in Hullian. Geoffrey choked.

“Let me explain,” Geoffrey whispered, his soft steps making his way towards him.

“Put a robe on, Geoffrey. A white one, please,” Wolfgan said, firmly but calm. Geoffrey stopped, cursed softly and walked to his chest. Wolfgan nodded to himself. He knew Geoffrey was now acting out of shock and fear, and soon his amiableness would fade. It would be a long way to tame Geoffrey, but he could do it.

“Wolfgan, I know you are mad but I have a fair explanation for it-” Geoffrey said. Wolfgan could hear him struggling with the robe. 

“There is no need of explanation. You have betrayed my trust and almost exposed me and my kingdom to shame.”

The trees shaking twenty feet outside the temple outside could be heard in the room. Geoffrey for once held his breath, and said nothing. Wolfgan let the silence fall for some seconds. 

“It’s very simple to me, Geoffrey,” he continued, voice as cold as ice. 

“I’m sorry,” Geoffrey said, clumsily, the unusual words falling awkward from his mouth. Wolfgan almost laughed, and then spoke again, voice so low Geoffrey could almost feel the vibrations.

“You are not, but you will be,” he said, turning to Geoffrey. He had to smile, even though it looked cruel in his face, mixed with anger and excitement. It was the same robe Geoffrey wore when he saw him on the garden. It was certainly the same wicked nymph. He walked closer to Geoffrey and took his pale, shaking hands in his, kissing the back of it, and looking straight into his eyes.

“Tonight I will take you as my Dali. You will wear my ring, because if you do not, I will walk down these stair and I will kill Algus, along with the soldiers I capture. I’ll kill them one by one. And his messenger will be forced to go back to Mithlorn with terrible news,” he said.

“Because tomorrow, I will declare war against your father.”

~.~

_ One year ago, Wolfgan paced back and forth in his garden. His father watched him with sorrow and on his eyes. Wolfgan had been denied things before, but rejection was something his son knew nothing about. _

_ Watching this for the first time without Henry by his side was frustrating.  _

_ “Do you really want to declare a war for a man?” Haomath said, already knowing the answer. _

_ “Yes. Yes I do,” Wolfgan said, but in his eyes, they both could see him accepting defeat. “But I don’t think I can handle to see him hating me more than he does now.” _

_ He let his sword fall to the floor and took off his golden ring, twirling it in his hand. _

_ “What is your is yours Wolfgan.” His father said, eyes distant. “Because the gods gave it to you. If he is yours, then he shall be.” _

_ And unspoken words hung in the air. Wolfgan let the ring fall into the palm of his hand and squeezed it. What if he isn’t? _

~.~

“You can’t... You can’t!” Geoffrey’s eyes went wide, and he took two steps back. “You’ve become insane. There are other ways to solve this!”

“Then tell me Geoffrey. Do I admit to Algus that you made a fool out of me? I might as well resign my heritance, because I am not a worthy of my own name anymore.”

Geoffrey’s hands clutch at his chest, and Wolfgan cursed the shakiness, desperation in his voice. He walked closer to Geoffrey, and held his cheek with one hand.

“I’m not asking you to love me,” Wolfgan said, even as the words seemed to cut deep into his chest. “I would never take from you what you won’t give willingly. I only ask for you company, and for you to recognize… Recognize that you are mine.”

The words seemed to not want to stop coming out of his mouth. Geoffrey’s eyes closed as if they could not bear to look at him while he poured his heart out for him a second time.  _ Does he remember,  _ Wolfgan thought _ , does he remember how I told him words so close to these before? _

“Sleep on my bed, I will sleep outside if I have to. Wear my ring, Geoffrey. Give me back my pride.”  

Geoffrey’s eyes seemed to soften for a moment, and Wolfgan felt hope, but as soon as it came, it went away. 

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” he said choking on a sob, cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Wolfgan you are acting out of anger. This is not you, you are better than this, I know.”  

Wolfgan laughed, bitterly and roughly. Geoffrey sounded patronising, trying to make Wolfgan feel young and not very wise. His hands clutched at Geoffrey’s hair and tightened, and Geoffrey's winced.

“I made a mistake once. I let you go when I shouldn't have, and I won’t do that twice.” 

Wolfgan’s arms made him turn around and then pressed him against the muscular chest. Wolfgan bent down until he could smell Geoffrey’s neck.

“I must be bewitched....” he whispered to himself, and could barely stop himself from letting his hands wander along Geoffrey’s sinuous form. “My word stands true. The destiny of this land is on your hands. I’m waiting Geoffrey. I won’t wait forever, thought. Not this time.”

Geoffrey’s eyes were already watering, and he said nothing for a very long time. Wolfgan could almost hear the thoughts running through his head, trying to find a way out. But Wolfgan wouldn't give up this time. 

“Alright, alright, please- I...” he sniffed, cringing and blinking back stubborn tears.“I’ll marry you.”

~.~

Algus was pale as a ghost. 

“How could you do this, Geoffrey?” he asked, voice sad and weavering. Geoffrey closed his eyes and counted to ten. They were all standing in the principal round hall, and Wolfgan was right behind him. His soldiers appeared to make a formation around them, ready to attack if they thought it was needed. It was overwhelming, Geoffrey thought, the adoration in their eyes as they gazed upon him. Villa had not left his side and was acting like a protective mother, while, Wolfgan kept a heavy, hand on the small of his back, as if to show Algus his claim.

It was all happening too fast, but Geoffrey made sure every word he said was as smooth and well constructed as always. Algus knew him since he was a child, and he would notice if Geoffrey lost his footing now, and made a fool of himself. He had to act as if this was his plan all along, marrying Wolfgan, but that the part where Algus confronted him was completely unexpected. Because Algus still saw him as pure and innocent, he made sure to widen his eyes and clutch at his hearth, like a royal, wounded prince would.

As they discussed, Algus snarled and attacked from all the sides. He fired questions like an archery master, and they were as specific as Geoffrey would expect of a mage with experience.

“And in which moon?”

“Twelve moons ago,” Geoffrey answered and felt Wolfgan move closer to his back, as if sensing he was being attacked. 

“Show me the seal,” Algus asked, and Wolfgan clutched at his sides when he drew the runes on air, and their bond shone bright in elven for a second. It had been quite the discussion to make Wolfgan let Geoffrey discuss with Algus, instead of himself. Apparently it wasn’t tradition to let their “Dali”, a word Geoffrey still couldn't translate, to talk for themselves in any argument. Which was ridiculous and Geoffrey planned to end it as soon as he could talk to Wolfgan about it.

Algus sighed and pressed the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“It’s real. You did it,” he said, and then looked straight at Geoffrey. “I did not expected to have bring such news to your father when I come back, Geoffrey.”

Geoffrey found himself leaning against Wolfgan for support, wanting to hide behind the giant’s figure so he could deal with his problems. He felt the man’s arm tighten around him, and felt the bile on his throat. He would never get used to this, to have another man touching him in such a possessive manner. 

“It’s perfectly legal. Father allowed me to pass the land along, his only condition was marriage. Well, he should be happy, it was what he wanted all along. A powerful ally.”

“A woman, Geoffrey.”

“He doesn’t need heirs, he has Jemy and Jemy has three male sons,” Geoffrey said, and felt the need to cry when Harles flinched from his position, hidden in an alcove. He knew he was hidden there because he didn’t wanted to be seen by Algus. Since the king refused to acknowledge him as a son he’s been sketchy about being seen by any of the royal.

“Your father will be so disappointed on you.” He turned to Algus, anger renewed.

“No more than he already is. It was all I could do. Algus, father was harming hundreds of people. I understand I should be punished but I could not handle to see all these people dying. Wolfgan was my only choice.”

Algus opened his mouth to respond but was brutally interrupted by Wolfgan’s hard, rough voice.

“This discussion is over,” Wolfgan said, after Kalifar finished whispering him something. Geoffrey was startled by his voice, and Algus said nothing, peacefully following the soldiers back to whatever room he was being kept in. Wolfgan let go of his hip, and Geoffrey felt relieved for a second, but it was only to appear in front of him again. A forceful hand clutched his chin, making him look up.

“You will pack your things as fast as you can, we’ll leave tomorrow as soon as the maids and servants from Hull arrive here to aid you,” Wolfgan said, and Geoffrey had to restrain himself from attacking. Taking orders from a younger one, being a priest, was insulting and Wolfgan knew it. He took Wolfgan’s hand in his own to put it away.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, and then added, in a lower tone. “You may have threatened me into marrying you, but I am not  _ willing _ to your touch.”

Wolfgan let out a surprised chuckle at having his own words thrown back at him, and let  go of his chin. Then kissed the back of his hand, one more time.

“You played with fire, Geoffrey. Don’t be surprised you got burn,” he said, and left Geoffrey hugging himself for warmth when he walked away with the soldiers. Villa finally allowed himself to get closer, and burst into excited noises.

“The way he came back of the battle, and only they you judged him worthy of your hand, Dali…” he said, bowing a little in respect. So that was the story they were spreading, Geoffrey figured. Well, at least he did not sounded like a whore.

He took a look around him. Yes, he deserved this, he thought, but he wasn’t going down like a fair damsel in distress. Wolfgan wanted him, he’d have him. All of him.

“The gods have answered the Warlord’s prayers... Bards will make songs about this,” Villa whispered to him, smiling.

~.~


	6. Chapter 6

Geoffrey looked around him. The path now was clear, a vast valley full of healthy grass, the high mountains in the distance and occasional lake that they had to make their way around. While the party of the soldiers strolled behind, he decided to keep his own pace for a while. The cold wind made him shiver again and he shrinked and buried his chin in the fur coat one of the maids gave him before the travel. It smelled like Wolfgan.

Wolfgan would be already in Hull right now. Mixed with mithlornian soldiers, hullians kept a close watch on Geoffrey and the royal family, that was coming along to see the wedding. When his father accepted Wolfgan's large offer to keep his sword down and give his permission to take Geoffrey's hand, the man must have suddenly grew an eye on Wolfgan's power.

Since the Henry's marriage, things have already been good between the two kingdoms, as far as a hullian friendship would go. It was rare to see Hull forming an alliance with any kingdom, and now Mithlorn could be the one to say that for sure if anything happened to their country, hullians would be there to help them. His father would never turn that down.

Hullians soldiers were very discernible from mithlornian ones, Geoffrey thought, looking around. His family was farther behind, kept at a distance from him by the hullians. They were tanned, some had a dark brown skin Geoffrey had only ever seen in Hull. One woman in particular had that dark skin and very short hair, and her eyes shone golden. Geoffrey guessed she was of a draconian race rather than hullian, and could only wonder what had brought her to serve under Wolfgan's army. The fact there were woman in Wolfgan's army was already very surprising to Geoffrey, some were almost as tall as any hullian even though they weren't, but he'd learned since the start to keep an open mind to Wolfgan's actions.

The further they got from the south, stronger was the wind. Also, the terrain got muddier from the light cold rain - not like the ones in the south. It fell slower but it seemed to last forever. And they haven't even gotten to the snow yet.

He looked at the mountains. It would be more three days to get to Goligan Castle, were the royal hullian family were. Haomath and Wolfgan. To be truthful, he had no idea what he would say to the man not to rape him. Wolfgan may say pretty words but he knew that in the end, his blood would win. And he was stronger than him, in the end. Geoffrey knew he captivated Wolfgan with his combative temper, but having no idea how long that would last scared him. Three years from now he could be getting daily beatings and never be allowed to see the sun.

Lost in thoughts about persuasion, he did not notice the dark skinned woman getting closer. Along with her was Lince, an ugly human, bard and sometimes bounty hunter that Geoffrey knew to be an old friend of Wolfgan because he remembered his face at the party, a year ago. Wolfgan seemed to always listen to his conversations about the market.

They came one at each side, and kept Geoffrey's pace. In some way Geoffrey liked that Wolfgan put his soldiers to accompany him to Hull, instead of leaving him to his family's care. They made him feel safe, and in the wide open space instead of dark full forests or the safety of his temple, Geoffrey found out a new thing about himself. He did not liked to see so much of the sky.

"You seem a little sick, Dali," she said, golden eyes shining in the cold sun. She had a different accent than other hullians too, a sibilant one. Geoffrey was positive now that she was draconian. Maybe a runaway. He had heard a war was happening after the seas, where the deserts were.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said, smiling graciously, as he remembered doing with his own servants. It was a long time ago and he did not knew how to deal with them anymore. Though this woman was more of a guard and soldier than a servant. "Just been a long time since I've been on a horse."

He rearranged himself on top of his white horse. It was true, his crotch and thighs were sore and that made him moody. The lady winced.

"Oh, that must hurt. Elves hate riding on horses, I've heard. You must not be used to it, and we've been riding for a long time."

Geoffrey widened his eyes. Never had he been called an elf before, except by Wolfgan. But the man also called him nymph, and mermaid and creature, so Geoffrey just assume he wasn't very wise on the subject.

"I'm not an elf!" Geoffrey said, and she gave him a curious look.

"Your mother must've been an elf, then, my Dali," Geoffrey hid his surprise, not everyone knew his mother had been an elf. His father was descendant of one, but the lines went way back and got blurred.

"Well, yes," Geoffrey said, uncertain. He knew elves were not very well accepted by most of the races.

"There you go, then. An elf, or half one, doesn't matter," Lince laughed by his side, and Geoffrey was startled by the man's acoustic voice. Lince was a very ugly man, his scars made him look almost like an ogre, instead of the man from the sands that he was. He must have too come from the deserts, Geoffrey thought. What had made them come to a place where the sun doesn't shine?

They kept going for and for a while, no one said anything. Then draconian spoke again.

"We should stop today if you are feeling tired," she said, signaling to the soldiers. She made a two with her fingers and Geoffrey assumed that meant two hours. He was going to die.

"What's your name?" he asked, trying to distract himself from the pain. He put his hand on the horse's neck, trying to communicate his pain to him, and healed himself a little with the strong life force. He felt a little silly doing it, but he had never felt such pain.

Draconian watched him curiously, eyes shifting from gold to green.

"Tavjar Vyneer," she said, and Geoffrey nodded sitting more comfortably on the horse.

"Where do you come from?" he asked.

"After the mountains, after the seas from north. Very far away from here," she answered, smiling slightly, sadly.

He frowned, "I've heard a war is going on there."

"Ah, yes," she said, and nothing more. Geoffrey understood she didn't wanted to talk about it, and turned to Lance.

"And you?"

"Lance, your highness, you know it," he said, a little haughtily. Geoffrey felt he would never get tired of hearing his voice. It made him smile immediately.

"Yes, I remember you screaming it to me in Wolfgan's birthday party. I meant, where do you come from, Lance?"

"Let me tell you this... If after the seas is far away, I've come from hell, your highness," he said. His voice suddenly somber and grey, turning his face to Geoffrey, showing his scars. Geoffrey flinched a little.

Then Lance laughed loudly then at his expression, and Geoffrey smiled a little uncertain. They rode for two more hours before Tavjar mentioned for him to stop, and the soldiers builded tents around a clearing close to some sparse trees from the north, snow already showing. Geoffrey thanked the nine gods and unmounted his horse, ready to eat and rest before they had to take off again.

That night they sat around the fire while Harles tried to make some kind of music with his small harp. Geoffrey's father got out of the carriage and approached camp, and watched his son from far away. Sitting in a makeshift bench with hullians and other races, his bright complexion stood out from the rest. Geoffrey laughed and smiled softly at them. They asked all kinds of questions about his training and he indulged them, knowing the Druidic traditions raised curiosity in other people.

Geoffrey stared across the fire at his father. Their eyes meet for a moment and some kind of recognition passed through them. Geoffrey always knew he was a lot like his father in some ways, and they always had a difficult relationship because of that. In an way, their manipulative spirit was the same, and he guessed his father was proud of him in a way, of getting his way when the odds were against him.

What he didn't knew was that Geoffrey wasn't getting his way. He broke eye contact and looked around the fire. Hales had his harp again, and people were cringing at the crooked notes coming from the thing. Lince was laughing away, and looked at him with an expectant stare.

"You want me to play it? You're the bard!" Geoffrey said, cringing at a dangerous noise Harles managed create from the cords.

"You wouldn't have one if you didn't knew how to play it," Lince said, smirking.

Tired of Harles ruining his harp, he took it from him, and began to play a very well know song, but in a slower rhythm. His family and the guards gathered around to listen, for it was rare to hear harp music, and they would surely try to remember it and share it with others.

His voice was smooth but he made it louder in the wind. He sang as soothingly as he could, so that maybe he could also sooth himself.

They smiled and mouthed the lyrics, but not one made a sound.

~.~

Geoffrey entered through the doors of Golligan castle as majestically as the first time he came to Hull, in the fortress. His robes swished around him in the same way and his hair was tied just as neatly. But his expression was different, Wolfgan thought, sitting in his throne. There was defeat written on it. And fear.

~.~

He stood there, in his white robe, at the entrance of the castle while the maids took his possessions away from the carriage by another passage. Geoffrey trembled at Wolfgan's possessive gaze. He had yet to get up, and Geoffrey was getting a little nervous. He cleared his throat.

Wolfgan finally got up and walked towards him. Like always, Geoffrey flinched a little when the man got closer, his size and angry looking face always managed to get him a little out of sorts. Wolfgan put a hand to his face and caressed his cheek, surprisingly gentle when Geoffrey thought for sure he would strike.

"You're here," he whispered, and Geoffrey frowned at the caress.

"I am," he said.

Wolfgan smiled then, as if forgetting that Geoffrey was here against his will, or all the things that were between them. Geoffrey pursed his lips and stepped away before thinking. Wolfgan immediately clenched his jaw, and Geoffrey remembered what the man could do to him once they were married. For the first time in his life after being disinherited, he truly did not knew what to do.

He turned to one of the doors when it opened, and Wolfgan turned too, seeing his father slowly enter the hall. Haomath was still a very handsome man, and didn't looked like he aged a day since Geoffrey came. The resemblance towards Wolfgan was startling. He looked at Geoffrey with a heavy frown on his face Geoffrey knew to be the man's permanent look, and walked towards him, seeming in a trance, almost in another time. When he finally spoke, there was heavy emotion in his voice.

"Geoffrey Wylcey Mirandir. I did not thought I would be alive to see this day," he said, looking proud of his son's feat. He looked relieved, but also almost truly happy to see Geoffrey. He felt a little uncertain about that, since for all he knew, Haomath could also hate him.

Geoffrey bowed a little, and Haomath touched the top of his head before he straightened up. Geoffrey always felt inadequate in the presence of Haomath, as if he had to impress the man somehow. Wolfgan took one his hands in his, smiling to his father. Wolfgan seemed a bit shy suddenly. A bit younger.

"I should show him his room, he must be tired from the trip," Wolfgan said, and Geoffrey felt suddenly irritated remembering the long horse ride. Tavjar told him Hullian's did not had carriages. Wolfgan nodded to his father, and Geoffrey barely had time to take a bow again before Wolfgan put his arm around his, and began walking away up the side stair. Geoffrey had to walk faster to keep up with the man's pace, and he looked up at Wolfgan. The man was so confusing. Geoffrey tugged at his arm when they got to the corridor, and Wolfgan slowed down a little.

As they walked, Wolfgan showed him the paintings on the walls telling about his ancestors and showing off the structure of the castle. He told him about how it was warm in the winter and stronger than any fortress in Mithlorn, and how he would be protected in it. His hurried words seemed a little awkward, it did not looked like the old Wolfgan whose voice boomed and demanded and...

He was definitely strange. Geoffrey widened his eyes when he came to the realization Wolfgan was attempting to… somehow court him.

"I am tired," he said, panicking a little. He expected violence and rudeness, but he certainly did not have the arms to combat this. Feeling his stomach queasy and his head spinning a little, Geoffrey put more space between himself and the man.

The hurt in Wolfgan's eyes was so apparent Geoffrey wanted to stab him.

Wolfgan nodded. "You're room is not far from here," he said, and they turned another corner. The castle was definitely huge, and very beautiful, Geoffrey had to admit. As they walked Geoffrey saw a painting of a pale man with chestnut hair on the wall. His eyes were grey and his smile was gentle and innocent, almost playful. Geoffrey slowed down.

The painted called to him. He could suddenly hear whispers in his ear, cold, so much cold, Geoffrey could feel the snow in his skin. He recognized the strings from the past reaching out, he had went through such things before in his trainment as a priest, but this time it was different. More urgent.

He thought he could hear a voice calling out for something but as soon as he tried to catch the string of trough, it ran away. Wolfgan was looking at him warily, while he approached the wall.

"Henry… He was beautiful." Geoffrey said, touching the painting. He had never seen Henry. His short trips to Hull did not included full tours before.

Those grey eyes painted in the canvas seemed to follow his gestures but Wolfgan knew better. Wolfgan still burned inside when he remembered his  _ mamka _ . Sometimes in the middle of the night he awoke thinking he heard his voice, but it was only dreams.

"He took care of us. Father won't last long without him, now," Wolfgan said. Geoffrey looked back, and he continued. "He had a… nurturing nature. Something rare among his kind."

Geoffrey was lost for a second, but then he scoffed.

"Oh. Because we elves are usually malicious, cold hearted and manipulative, so their descendants must be the same. How could I have forgotten."

Wolfgan thinned his lips and clenched his jaws, and Geoffrey looked up at him.

"I am truly sorry for your father," he said. Wolfgan nodded, but Geoffrey did not believed him. "I am, Wolfgan. I admit I might have used… The knowledge of his absence in the past but… I never meant to hurt anyone. I never lied to you."

Geoffrey bit his lips while Wolfgan frowned at him. He was looking straight at him, as if trying hard to believe his words ,but failing.

"You said building those temples would bring him back."

"I said building those temples might help him find the way back," Geoffrey said back, and Wolfgan shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. That's in the past now. Let me take you to your room," Wolfgan said, a little more sour. Geoffrey kept quiet and did not attempted to take his hand off Wolfgan's arm again as they neared his room. It was one guarded by a great wooden double door. Wolfgan put a hand inside his coat and took off a chain from around his neck with a key in it. He let go of Geoffrey's hand to unlock the door and open it. He looked at Geoffrey meaningfully, then mentioned with his hand for him to enter.

He did, hesitantly.

"I'll send the maids to prepare you, before the ceremony. We'll do it as soon as possible… Dalikath," he said softly. Geoffrey blinked at the word and crossed his arms while Wolfgan slowly closed the door.

He heard the lock turn. Damned Hullians and their traditions, he knew what the locking meant and he hated it. His message was very clear to Geoffrey.

_ You're mine now. I won. _

~.~


	7. Chapter 7

Geoffrey looked around him. The room Wolfgan gave him, his own probably, was entirely made of wood and rock. Everything was simple but very elegant, and Geoffrey felt a little comforted by it. It was clean and wide and royal, and he felt at home. The bed was giant and stood again one of the walls, taking over the room. Beside it, some stands full of books, probably for his sake too since hullians didn't read much, and two giant chests made of metal, wood and leather, which he assumed belonged to Wolfgan too. There were two big windows which gave him a very beautiful view of the mountains, and the dark winter forest that was just on the horizon.

Geoffrey bit his lips and clutched at his clothes. He was so very tired but laying down in Wolfgan's bed was just everything he has ever been against. His eyes fell on the little table tucked in a corner full of trinkets and metal and gold, probably gifts from the man as usual with hullians, and a little wooden stool across the room in the other corner, carved with runes, with an harp that was bigger than his own beside it. Another present.

None of his own possessions were on the room, he realized. He wondered if that was one of Wolfgan's punishments or if if was something else, some other habit he wasn't aware of.

He took his travel boots off and untied the lace around his legs, taking the delicate trousers of from under his robes. He left them beside the huge chest and looked at the bed again. Thorn, he walked to the little table with the trinkets, eyes focusing on the gifts, noticing they weren't trinkets at all. They were very expensive jewels and rings, perfumes and hair brushes made of silver.

He sat on the hair in front of it and took one hairbrush, slowly untangling his hair, looking at his reflection. Once again he saw a tired man, so very different from who he used to be some years ago. His eyes got blurry and this time he couldn't help a tear from falling, and he scrunched up his face in shame. He threw the hairbrush back with the others, angry and scared, and got up again.

He walked from side to side before deciding to take off his robes and fold them, leaving them on top of Wolfgan's chest. He approached the bed a little uncertain, and got up on it, feeling immediately soothed and sleepy. He knew it was Wolfgan's scent, impregnated in the sheets of the bed and in the whole air of the room, that made him feel this way, but he was too far tired to question it this time, or to rage against it. He dropped down in the middle of the bed dressed only in his delicate underwear and took one of the pillows to hold. He brought it to his nose and took a deep breath, feeling his body respond, whimpering. This. Desperate, he dug his nails on his tight until it hurt as a punishment, until he couldn't feel pleasure anymore. It was this madness that made him disinherited and it was only fair that it was his punishment. If he couldn't bring himself to touch a woman, if he couldn't have an heir, it was only fair of destiny to force a man upon him. Maybe under Wolfgan he could do some good for society after all.

~.~

Wolfgan sat on his throne looking at the warriors dancing on the saloon. Geoffrey was sitting beside him, hair adorned with gold and silver, gown falling down his shoulders and thighs, eyes unfocused and lost. Wolfgan had checked on him while he was sleeping twice, worried about how obedient he would be, if he would try to burn anything down.

The sleeping, calm beauty he found in his bed made him smile, and he had to hold himself to not go inside and take Geoffrey right there. He made himself close the door, assign a soldier to stand in front of the door in case Geoffrey needed anything, and he slept in another room, letting Geoffrey have his alone time.

Now, Geoffrey had an empty cup in his hand, and he was swaying with the music from time to time, smiling silly at a joke someone every now and then said in the hall. Drunk, he was very drunk. Someone was really trying to kill him, he thought, holding the chair so forcefully his knuckles turned white.

Geoffrey stood up seeking for more wine, looking around to find someone carrying a bottle and when he got close enough, Wolfgan pushed him to his lap. The man flushed, falling easily without any balance. Geoffrey glared at him and pursed his lips, red and fluffy from the drinks.

"Wolf-gan, we're in… public," he said, pushing a hand against his chest. He noticed how his feet didn't touched the floor anymore and swayed them in the air, body falling slightly to the side, resting his head against Wolfgan's shoulder. Wolfgan raised a hand to touch his hair, afraid to scare Geoffrey off, and slowly brought it down. With another hand, he fed him his own cup of wine, and Geoffrey took it gracefully.

He would need it. Wolfgan would have to take him tonight, and Geoffrey would suffer otherwise. He had truly no other option. He knew Geoffrey, and he would for sure try to start a fight. It would end with Geoffrey beaten, fucked and sore and that was not how he wanted their first time to be. He wanted to show Geoffrey he could truly give him pleasure, without pain, without any violence. He could be sweet to him, Wolfgan promised himself. He would, no matter what Geoffrey threw at him, he wouldn't use his full strength against him, never had, never would.

The wedding song started and the couples began to switch partners. Wolfgan saw with the corner of his eye his father sitting down and looking at him with that proud look on his face, and extend a hand to the hall. Wolfgan looked at the creature nestled on his lap and took Geoffrey's hand in his. Would he join him in a dance around the fire?

Geoffrey looked up sharply when his hand was taken, and questioned Wolfgan with his eyes.

"Dance with me, it's our wedding night," he said, whispering it to his hair. Geoffrey shivered and flinched away in disgust. He looked up at Wolfgan's expectant face, and took a slow controlled breath.

"I… Only tonight," he said, talking steadier than he was feeling right now. His eyes were not focusing on anything right and he had to slightly support himself on Wolfgang's arms, gracefulness so deeply ingrained in his blood it he managed to look elegant even drunk.

They danced slowly to the sound of the drums and the harp and the flute, and he twirled and walked a grumpy Geoffrey around, laughing when his hands searched for his shoulders to recover balance. Geoffrey smiled softly at his booming laugh when he wasn't looking, and several mithlornians joined in with hullians partners and accompanied them. Wolfgan held Geoffrey's waist to him and caressed him slowly, while Geoffrey tried to follow his steps and not to fall.

He saw his father stand in one corner talking to the King of Mithlorn, face somber and bored. The king shook his hands in the air and smile, laughed at his own theatrics while his father stared deeply at the man's throat, possibly having deadly fantasies. Wolfgan laughed and Geoffrey looked in the same direction.

"He never seemed to understand what my father was saying," he said, slowly. "I should probably go there before Haomath starts a fight."

Wolfgan held onto his waist and crushed Geoffrey to his chest.

"I think your father can handle himself," he said, unwilling to let Geoffrey go. Geoffrey detached himself from his arms and shook his head.

"No, I really should go, " he said, voice husky. lips red and wet.

Wolfgan watched his Dali walk away from him and sat to his throne once again. Kalifar looked at him from across the hall where he was unsuccessfully trying to convince Valha to dance with him, and smiled uncertain. Wolfgan shook his head. He watched Geoffrey convince his own father to drink at the banquet, and stood talking to Haomath. Haomath relaxed when the king went away and gazed imposing but condescend at Geoffrey It seemed he also had a soft spot for Geoffrey in his heart. How he managed to do that would ever be a mystery to Wolfgan.

~.~

Late that night he took a sleepy, drunk Geoffrey upstairs while everyone passed out at the hall and out on the front of the castle by the bigger fire. Several villages had also made fires and were dancing around it commemorating the joining of the kingdoms once again, taking any excuses to stop working and drink until dawn, and Hull was a loud and warm place tonight. Geoffrey shifted in his arms once again, too sleepy to notice Wolfgan was carrying him once they were outside the view of the hall.

He carried him through the corridors and into his room. He put Geoffrey on the bed, watching the men immediately curl to his side and went back to lock the door telling the soldier to leave for the night. While he was there, Geoffrey needed no other protection. He put the key around the doorknob.

He turned slowly to Geoffrey. He was sitting up now, looking warily at Wolfgan.

"You said you wouldn't sleep here," he said, trembling a little when Wolfgan took his cape off. Wolfgan smiled sadly, he couldn't help it, Geoffrey's vulnerability brought out the soft beast inside him. He wanted to protect him but he knew that at the end of the night Geoffrey would be hating him once again.

"Please don't panic, Geoffrey," he said, opening his shirt. Geoffrey stood up, looking at the door behind him.

"No… Wolfgan please," he said, and Wolfgan let his shirt fall to the floor, too impatient to take anything else off.

He approached Geoffrey, catching him by the waist when he tried to make a run to the door. He threw him on the bed rather forcefully, and Geoffrey bounced, too drunk to move faster. His hand shone bright before Wolfgan felt the fire burning at his skin but the spell fell flat when he dropped himself on top of Geoffrey.

Geoffrey kicked and turned in his arms, but his beautiful nymph quickly subsided when Wolfgan ground down on him, forcing his legs to open. He froze when Wolfgan's clothed groin came into contact with his own, and whimpered when Wolfgan put an arm around him, forcing him to arch his back into his chest. Then he tried to avoid looking at him, cheeks red of exertion and eyes puffy putting his arms up between then.

But Wolfgan had already felt it, he felt the warmth of his body and his pleasure, how he responded to Wolfgan. He tucked his face against Geoffrey's neck, biting it, not really believing what he was feeling, not sure if he should be mad or happy. He ground down again and felt Geoffrey's hardness against his own. Had Geoffrey felt always that way about him? Was it the fight that excited him?

He knew the moment Geoffrey realized he felt it. His eyes widened, his mask slipped, and like a man drowning he gasped and started a flight plan. No more burning lashes, no more hits. He turned on his front and started to crawl away from him but Wolfgan held him firmly by the waist with one arm bringing his back in contact with his chest. His knees forcing Geoffrey tights to open more and more to accommodate him.

_ No,  _ and  _ please  _ Geoffrey whimpered but Wolfgan held tight because he knew better. Or he didn't, because really, at that moment all he could think was that Geoffrey was attracted to him, that Geoffrey felt  _ that  _ way about him and had lied to him about it.

And  _ why,  _ his mind roared. He didn't understood. Was it that he was a northern? Or that it was Wolfgan? Was it that Geoffrey didn't trusted hullians? Was it that to him he was no better than a dirty barbarian? Wolfgan would never hurt Geoffrey. He had to know that, why didn't he knew that?

The struggling made him hard, and he instinctively pressed his hardness into Geoffrey's behind. Geoffrey stiffened, sobs and caught breaths making wet spots on the sheets, but no tears. Wolfgan's arm was braced on the side of his head, Geoffrey's hair sliding through his forearm and Geoffrey shook his head side to side.

Wolfgan suddenly wanted to let him go, to ask where it hurt even though he knew Geoffrey would never be helpless in his arms. But then, Geoffrey whined and pressed back into his crotch, arching like a cat.

The surprise almost made Wolfgan loose his hold, but he caught himself, and pressed forward lowering himself into Geoffrey, growling into his chestnut hair, right by his ear.

He felt Geoffrey shivering all over, and he wanted to see. He wanted to look into his eyes, see the lust he wanted to see for so long to make sure it was true that it wasn't another one of his tricks.

He turned him into his back, violently, rough, hating himself for not being able to treat the man any better. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps Wolfgan was a barbaric animal and Geoffrey was better without him.

Geoffrey eyes were an surreal blue when he looked up at him and again all he could see was wariness. Again, Geoffrey was only pretending to be complacent to him so he wouldn't get hurt, denying his own desires. Wolfgan hated that Geoffrey felt like he had to had to use that defense mechanism against him, that he couldn't find a way to give himself to him. Suddenly he didn't feel angry anymore, just tired of Geoffrey pretending all the time. It had to end, at least with him. He had to find a way to get through his barriers.

He caressed Geoffrey's face and he closed his eyes while Wolfgan's hand traveled across his cheek. Wolfgan rubbed his lips slowly, not breaking eye contact and let his other hand wander through his legs, so beautifully open for him. Geoffrey tightened his muscles but didn't move nor make a sound eyes following all his movements.

His hand traveled up inside the robes, reaching the soft linen underpants inside. He massaged the outline of Geoffrey's cock, but when he tried to break the cloth, Geoffrey tightened his tights around Wolfgan's hips, and turned his head away into the pillow. His hair fell all forward, hiding his face away, hiding his expression of confusion and lust and sadness.

Wolfgan bent down over him again.

"Geoffrey," he said slowly to his ear," I promise this is the only time I'll ever touch you without your permission."

Geoffrey nodded slightly to the bed, face tucked against the pillow while Wolfgan undid his underpants, and slid them all the way from his legs, opening them again to settle down between them.

"I have to make our bound permanent, Geoffrey," he said, rather desperately, wanting Geoffrey to understand. Geoffrey whimpered and made soft complying sounds, still too scared, as if trying to sooth a beast.

"Yes, Just… Be careful. Please don't hurt me," he said, voice small and wavering. Wolfgan felt his heart squeeze. So unlike the strong brave Geoffrey he knew. And he had done this after all.

He brought his hands to Geoffrey's face kissed him once on the lips.

"No, never," he whispered, between kisses, "You know I would never, Geoffrey."

Geoffrey nodded again, turning his head to the side in shame while Wolfgan kissed down his neck, biting his skin, letting his hands wander down again. Being so close to Geoffrey's naked body was way too much and he had to undo his own pants, loosening the string letting his member out. Geoffrey looked down when he did, and made a soft  _ oh _ sound, looking up at Wolfgan with worry.

"It won't… Wolfgan, it won't fit-"

"Shh," he said, kissing his lips again, silencing his desperate words. "It will, Geoffrey, trust me."

And he knew it for sure. He had practice, he was no naive boy with no idea of what he was doing. He made sure of it, and was thankful he did it now. Everything would be good for Geoffrey.

He undid the robes easily, the marriage soft garment made to be undone, and sat back to look at his Dali. Geoffrey was lean and softly muscled, pale and hairless despite his age. Still hiding away, Geoffrey flushed when he felt Wolfgan was no longer near but watching him from afar. Wolfgan bent closer again, running his hands along his torso, over his nipples, and Geoffrey tried to stifle a moan. Wolfgan heard it anyway, but didn't press it.

He went down his body, putting apart his legs with his hands and kissing his inner thigh, while Geoffrey trembled and moaned in surprise. He supported Geoffrey's body, holding his hips while he searched his opening with his tongue, and Geoffrey tightened his legs again and moaned in surprise when his mouth finally found his target.

He pried his cheeks apart and licked around him entrance until he felt him relax enough to slip inside. Geoffrey shifted and trembled, trying to sometimes flinch away, sometimes get closer.

"Wolfgan, stop that right now!" he said suddenly, between caught breaths. Wolfgan looked up, mirth on his eyes.

"Why? You seem to enjoy it."

"No, it's terrible and dirty. I demand you to stop it," he said again, trying to sound formal and commanding even now. Wolfgan supported himself with one hand beside his head, sinking the pillow under him, and ran a finger around his entrance, now relaxed and wet for him. Geoffrey breath caught again when he breached inside, looking around for his spot.

"And how about this, Geoffrey?" he said, caressing his inner walls. Geoffrey's mouth fell open, and he writhed on the bed.

"I don't like that either," he said, panting. Wolfgan eased another finger inside, finally finding the spot he'd been looking for when Geoffrey arched his back all on his own and spread his legs even more, not knowing.

"Black magic," he cursed, moaning. "You're… you did something… You did magic, stop it."

His member was weeping already, so cute and rosy. Geoffrey wasn't very big, by any means, but it was no matter to Wolfgan, it fit his role perfectly. Wolfgan wondered if Geoffrey would feel the need to touch it while he fucked him. He wouldn't let him, he decided. He would punish him if he did.

Geoffrey put a hand down between his legs and closed a hand around his wrist, not realizing he was fucking himself on Wolfgan's fingers, trying to shove him away unsuccessfully.

"I have to make sure you're well prepared, Geoffrey," he said, kissing his pointed ear, lazily biting his earlobe. His stamina would hold him through the process, and having Geoffrey like this was almost as great as what would come next.

"Just-just put it in, Wolfgan, please…" he asked, moaning and squeaking adorably when Wolfgan brushed his spot. "Please."

Wolfgan growled against his ear, pleased to see him begging for his cock, and took away his fingers, closing a hand around his member and guiding himself inside Geoffrey. He entered him slowly, stretching Geoffrey to his limits, and closed a hand around one pale thigh, bringing it closer, marking him with his fingers. Geoffrey whimpered against his ear and said his name a feel times, clutching his shoulder, but he heard no sound of pain.

He rested his forehand against Geoffrey's when he felt himself all inside him. He was so tight and soft and warm, Wolfgan wanted to just stay inside him like this forever, even though his body was screaming at him to move. He wanted to give Geoffrey some time to adjust, however, and feeling him shifting and panting softly on the bed, trying to get used to having something so big inside his body was making him even harder.

He braced himself on the bed and kissed Geoffrey softly on the lips again, feeling the man flinch away from his mouth. He sighed and kissed his cheek anyway, waiting for a sign. He had to move, soon.

After some seconds, Geoffrey ran his thigh up his torso, gently tightening them around him giving his silent permission, still flushed and looking at anywhere but his face. Wolfgan eased out and trusted in again, and both moaned at the feeling. Wolfgan put an arm around him again, wanting to feel him closer, and Geoffrey came willingly, panting and biting his lips every time Wolfgan reached his spot.

He did it again and again, losing himself inside him, pounding rougher and faster, then gentler and slower, and Geoffrey took it all, took it so well, laying down and accepting all he was giving. He felt Geoffrey putting his arms around his neck and bit Geoffrey's neck harshly, almost until breaking point, claiming him as his own. Geoffrey arched his neck for him, acknowledging his claim, accepting it.

When he felt himself approaching the end he clung to Geoffrey's waist and trust once, holding himself all inside and clutching Geoffrey's hips to him, having to make sure he would receive all of it, all of his seed. Geoffrey trembled when he felt the warmth of his seed reach deep inside him and clenched around him, hugging him with his legs, belly undulating while he wet his belly with his own release. Wolfgan groaned and trusted one more time.

"I love you," he said to his neck, not quick enough to catch the words coming out of his mouth. Geoffrey shivered, laying down heavy, lazy, almost sleeping. His legs dropped slowly down on the bed and he looked up at Wolfgan with half closed eyes when he leaned back, confused again. He nodded once at his words.

"I know," he said, voice trembling. Wolfgan kissed him, deeply this time, forcing his mouth to open and accept his tongue too, and Geoffrey allowed him, enduring the assault passively.

Wolfgan pulled out from inside him, slowly, ending the kiss. Geoffrey winced, and sighed, he didn't know if relieved or disappointed. He caught his wedding robes and rubbed it on Geoffrey's belly, then down his legs, ignoring Geoffrey's affronted stare at seeing the cloth being ruined. He threw it away and turned Geoffrey to his side, pushing the covers up upon them and hugging the man to his chest.

"You won't do this every night," Geoffrey said, before leaning his head against his biceps and closing his eyes. "It's not right to have you sleeping in my bed every night."

"Quiet, Geoffrey," Wolfgan whispered to his ear, hugging him tighter to himself. "Shut your mouth and sleep."

~.~


	8. Chapter 8

He woke up with Geoffrey resting relaxed across his chest, long golden hair interlaced across his fingers, and a pale leg draped across his abdomen. He caressed Geoffrey’s head, smiling when he tucked his face even further on the crook of his neck and made soft cooing noises. He put one hand on his thigh moving it up and down his skin, and Geoffrey only burrowed himself closer. Geoffrey was a lot better like this, docile. He liked it.

Groaning to himself, he remembered he had to leave. It was already morning and there were things to do. Several lords to send messages too, about mithlornians on their lands and how they would deal with the increase of foreigners. He also wanted to check on his wolves. They usually slept outside his door, sometimes inside, but yesterday he had to lock them in the kitchen. No one would dare to approach them, so he had to untie them himself. He moved carefully from under Geoffrey but the man immediately woke up, alert and looking at Wolfgan with confused, half closed eyes.

“Oh, you’re leaving,” Geoffrey said, emotionless, slowly settling down on the bed again. Wolfgan nodded.

“Some business to take care of,” he said. “Have to release the wolves too. They’re in the kitchen.”

“They’re usually here,” Geoffrey said again without asking, voice muffled by the pillow.

“Yes,” he said, slowly. “I can leave them in the kitchen at night, if you want.”

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes at him and scoffed. “I’m a druid, Wolfgan. I can deal with your wolves,” he said slowly as if Wolfgan was an idiot.

Wolfgan turned around and sat on the bed, pulling on his boots.  

“Yes, well,” he said. “The’ll follow you around anyway, you do something with their heads.”

“It’s called communicating, you dimwit,” Geoffrey said, shrinking himself on the bed once the warmth of Wolfgan went away. He made sure to pull his cover up and all around himself so no piece of skin would show. The cold was getting to him. Calim was really warmer, he thought. To him, Calim was cold too, but he had lived all his life in Mithlorn.

Wolfgan looked back at his small figure all curled up without him. The insult sounded a little wan, not as energetic as it used to be. He put a hand on the small of Geoffrey’s back, but he only ignored it, or tried to, freezing underneath it. Sighing, he stood up and walked to the door, pulling the chain out from the doorknob and unlocking it before pulling around his neck again. Geoffrey sat up then at the noise, looking up at him with worry in his eyes.

“Are you going to lock it again?” he asked, rather timidly. Wolfgan shook his head.

“Not anymore, Geoffrey. I had to, yesterday. We were not married yet and I wasn’t sure if you or your father would…” he trailed off, giving him a small smile. “Like before.”

Geoffrey only stared at him, and he pursed his lips.

“Well, it’s unlocked now,” he said, leaving Geoffrey alone in the room again.

~.~

Wolfgan watched Geoffrey for afar, while he walked across the corridors looking out the windows to the garden where the tree of the Golden Peas was. Three days passed, come and gone. For three days Geoffrey had avoided him, panicking and closing the door on his face when he tried to enter their room at night, and running away from his hands when he tried to kiss him good morning.

It wasn’t how he imagined how he would be spending his time only three days after married but he knew since the beginning it wouldn’t be easy to get Geoffrey to come around. He sneered at himself, his own foolishness. He had promise himself to give him time to adjust to the castle, to his duties and to the role he now had, but despite the time, he hadn’t warmed to him not even a little.

Geoffrey met Ligia on the second day and both had formed a friendship, he was told. Ligia was a cook and sometimes maid Wolfgan had borrowed from his father. A tough woman, but always very warm to people she took to heart. Geoffrey and her had a good time ordering people around the kitchen and trading cooking techniques for healing herbs. He asked her how Geoffrey was fairing, and she told him, with sympathy in her eyes, that Geoffrey hated him very much.

“Dali is not very welcoming of you right now,” she said, eyes shining with tears. “But I know he misses you at night, Siath. He feels cold and wear your furs. He’s just very stubborn, but he’ll come around.”

Now Geoffrey gazed curiously at the tree outside the window. It was a private garden, very hidden from view and he had half expected to find Geoffrey wandering around there sometime. But this appeared to be the first time he was seeing it. Geoffrey’s ears twitched in a familiar manner that told Wolfgan he knew he was there, and Geoffrey spoke without looking away from the tree, a hand on the glass, excitement in his tone.

“Ligia, is that a Golden Pea tree?” he asked.

“Yes,” Wolfgan said, approaching him. Geoffrey looked back startled, and widened his eyes.

“Wolfgan?”

“I planted that tree for you,” Wolfgan said, getting even closer and taking his hands in his, looking down at him. “In one of your visits you mentioned you liked Golden Peas instead of Apples, and that they could never be found in hullian grounds. So I planted one. You can even climb it if you want, is in a private place, no one would see you.”

“Liar,” Geoffrey said, trying to step back. Wolfgan put a hand around him to stop him from leaving. Geoffrey huffed, annoyed. “They take ten years to grow.”

He smiled. “You’re not the only one who can do magic. I can't, but I asked a mage to do it.”

“You asked a mage to do it,” Geoffrey repeated it, looking at him strangely. He nodded. Geoffrey pursed his lips, then sighed.

“That was… Incredibly sweet of you. Thank you Wolfgan,” he said, slowly and hesitant. “Would you mind letting go of me now?.”

“Yes, I would.” he said.

“I can make something for you,” Geoffrey said, a little too quickly, when Wolfgan leaned in. “I can make a good pie from Golden Peas.” At Wolfgan’s silence he looked up from his ashes, fumbling a little.  “As a thank you.”

“Ah,” he said, with a thoughtful nod. Again Geoffrey must have thought he would want something back for this act of kindness. Wolfgan felt his blood get colder at the thought after all this time Geoffrey still couldn't trust him. “I understand.”

What he would really like was for Geoffrey to look at him warmly when they were talking, and to let him sleep inside their bedroom, and not to run away when he tried to touch him.

Geoffrey excused himself, and he considered forcing him to stay. Forcing a kiss. Forcing him to the bed. But inside, he still believed Geoffrey could come willingly somehow. It was the one thing, he realized, that was stopping him.

“Go make me a pie then,” he said, stepping back and letting Geoffrey make his escape.

~.~

“Where are you going?” Geoffrey asked suspiciously from his seated position at the table. He was reading one of his books and had looked a little frightened when Wolfgan entered the room, but soon masqueraded his fear.

Wolfgan looked back at him. He was kneeling in front of his chest, the one always locked where he kept important weapons and tools. One more week had passed and not a glance from Geoffrey. Now, he was leaving the castle. There were troubles in the north of the country and he had to lead an army there, make a speech and recruit more soldiers from the villages.

“Away,” he deadpanned. “I would have warned you sooner but you were running away from me.”

“Already?” Geoffrey asked, ignoring the second part of what he said, a strange emotion across his face.

He looking away from him and Wolfgan’s face fell. He didn’t know leaving would affect Geoffrey, even if it was for a few days. Maybe he should postpone it, until Geoffrey felt safer in the castle. Despite not reaching out for him he knew for a fact Geoffrey had been asking soldiers where he was all the time, if he was away, where he was sleeping, and where he had had lunch or dinner. It was a different country and Geoffrey could be feeling a little unease.

“I don’t have to go, Geoffrey,” he said, calmly. “I can stay for a few more days if you want to.”

Geoffrey looked up from his book.

“I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself.”

“Yes,” Wolfgan said, lifting an eyebrow. “I know that. Also, you won’t miss me.”

“No, I won’t.” Geoffrey said, looking down at the book, crossing his naked ankles on the floor, back for him. He looked at the naked feet. How he longed to touch them again, any part of his body, really. “I have no reason to.”

He approached him, putting his sword on the scabbard. He saw Geoffrey’s shoulders tense up, and he reached out a hand for his hair.

“But I’ll miss you,” he said, caressing the strands. He bent down to smell his scent, and Geoffrey shivered, turning his neck to the side, leaning away. He kissed his neck once, and immediately missed his taste. He wanted him again.

“Wolfgan, not now. Leave, please,” Geoffrey said, emotionless. He sighed. He knew Geoffrey was difficult, but he didn’t imagine it would be so hard to get into his good graces.

He wasn’t the docile wife he dreamed he would have when he was fifteen, one that would take care of his needs and warm him at night. But he wouldn't take anyone else. Having Geoffrey around was good, but it wasn’t enough. He had to find a way, he realized. He couldn't take this forever, and Geoffrey was no rock. He already knew he was attracted to him, in some way. He had to find a way to use that knowledge, in some kind of… strategy.

The childish acts only confirmed to him Geoffrey was in need of guidance. He just haven’t noticed it yet. .

With a new found objective, he stood up, grabbed his helmet and left the room, without another word. Perhaps his complete absence would be good, for a while, to help understand how he felt about him. Geoffrey looked back to see him closing the door. After a few minutes, the door opened again just as he was turning the corridor, but just a little, Geoffrey’s face peeking out, looking up at him curiously.

“Wolfgan,” he said.

“What is it, Geoffrey,” he asked.

“You… you said you were going to the north Hill?” he asked, opening the door a little more. Wolfgan nodded.

“Yes, why?”

“Can you bring me a plant? It’s dark green and have thorns in it, yellow ones. They grow there.” he said, biting his lips. “Wait, I’ll draw it for you.”

He went inside again. Wolfgan stood there in his combat armor and black fur cape, helmet hanging in one hand, waiting.

When Geoffrey came back he had a piece of parchment on his hand and a fresh quick drawing of a plant. He took it from him, and looked down when he felt Geoffrey lightly touch his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

“And be careful,” Geoffrey said, pursing his lips. He whispered a blessing and Wolfgan felt it spreading over his body. He didn't know for which god Geoffrey prayed, but he accepted the gesture. Before he could thank him, Geoffrey stepped away, turned, and entered his room again, leaving him even lonelier than he’s been before. He touched the place Geoffrey traced with his fingers. He supposed he would be getting quite addicted to those moments as well.

~.~

Geoffrey wandered through the fair. The soldier at his side pointed at a lady selling yarn and all kinds of strips and he approached her, her eyes shining bright when she looked up. He smiled softly at her and pointed at the red-wine strip of silk tied to one bar on the counter, and she started to talk fast hullian about how he could take anything he wanted.

He took the strip and gave it to the soldier to guard it for him, and payed the woman. She bowed over and over again.

Wolfgan had been away for a week, and with nothing to do, he had decided to go down the fair and buy material to work on stitching the clothes in Wolfgan’s chest. A lot of his armors and shirts were ripped probably from battle, and laid forgotten at the bottom of his chest. He opened the chest because he was feeling bored and curious, and he decided to sew the clothes because he had nothing to do. Also, Wolfgan should lock it if he didn’t want anyone going through it. Not because he missed him, he told himself. That would be ridiculous. Definitely not because he could smell him on his clothes. That one time was an accident.

But the nights were getting colder since the first one. He couldn't deny that.

“Let me accompany you, Dali,” Vallia had said, bowing and gathering other three soldiers around him back in the castle. He said it wasn’t needed, even as he felt unprotected and so cold in the infinite land of Hull without his tough, giant, unpleasant bodyguard around him this time around. Vallia and the guards insisted on accompanying him anyway, and he let them.

He borrowed Wolfgan’s cape again, as he didn’t have anything that would protect him against the unusual cold. The maids made some coats and heavy robes for him but none quite compared to the warmth he felt when he draped the fur cape around himself. He supposed Wolfgan had hunted the animal and tanned the hide himself, he’d be vain and proud like that.

The guards smiled at him and tried to stay close, glaring at any passerby who as much as looked a little twisted at him. It seemed that “Dalis” were seen as guardians of the Warlord’s heart, mother of the country, and even their devotion to Henry was still very strong. The way they talked about him was very loving and adoring, and they did the same for him. Soldiers and servants of the castle had a special bound and felt that connection stronger, he noticed, some crying when Geoffrey asked about Henry. That awed Geoffrey, and stirred his curiosity.

Feeling something tugging at his robes made Geoffrey look down. A child of about three or four years stood there, one thumb inside his smiling mouth while the other clutched at the cloth, looking up wide eyed.

“Harte? Harte?” he said, hugging his legs. Geoffrey knew what he was saying, even as his accent was rough and a little unclear to him. He was asking for help. He looked around for the mother, and even in the confusion of the fair, guards blocking a lot of people from approaching him, he could see a worried woman, eyes shining on the other side of the street, calling for a child.

“Et her Dali, venn,” Vallia by his side said to the child, smiling. He heard an excited squeal, and his robes were let go of. Geoffrey looked down at the child. He never really knew how to deal with children, and this one was chubby and happy, putting his little arms up for him, saying Dali over and over again. Geoffrey smiled softly at him and bent down to catch him. He was heavy in the way that no non-hullian child had the right to be, and his accent was rough as any other hullian he knew.

“Is that your mother over there?” he asked, remembering a younger Harles, that now should be in the temple, taking care of the old priests for him. Often Harles would seek for him instead of mother or father, both always stern and focused on country matters, and the maids scared the child. He never quite knew how to deal with Harles, but he wasn’t a very difficult child either. A little singing always calmed him down, so he learned the harp.

The toddler waved his arms and pointed at his mother.

“Mam!” he said, out loud. “Mamka!”

And then it happened.

Geoffrey for a second lost vision of the boy, and his eyes got blurry. He put him down on the ground, still smiling, and whispered to his ear, “Go to you mother now, be a good boy.”

The boy ran to his mother, laughing and waving, and Geoffrey looked around, feeling dizzy and suddenly very cold. He could hear a man screaming, wood breaking apart. Then, a baby’s cry.

He bent down and put his hands on his head, overwhelmed with the strength of what he was seeing. Visions of Henry draped across a giants back, a giant made of ice and snow, carried across mountains. Then, Henry inside some kind of cell, a dungeon. He was cradling a baby on his arms, trying to shush him, so they wouldn't be hurt. Was it a baby Wolfgan? That would be the past, but Geoffrey felt like that was the present. That was happening right now.

He had to save them somehow, he said to himself. If only he could get Wolfgan to believe him, they both could go across the mountains and look for Henry. Wolfgan would be getting back tomorrow night. The soldiers gathered around him, and Vallia helped him up. Wolfgan would be back tomorrow. It would be all fine. Just one more day, Henry would have to survive.


	9. Chapter 9

Wolfgan sat in front of him in their room, with his hands joined together in his lap. Geoffrey crossed his arms, too nervous by his silence.

“Wolfgan?” he said, and Wolfgan narrowed his eyes, blinking hard, a scowl appearing on his face. He looked tired. Geoffrey felt a stab of guilt for troubling him right after such a long travel. 

“You say he is alive,” Wolfgan repeated, looking right into his eyes. He nodded.

“Yes.”

“In the mountains.”

Geoffrey nodded again, one hand messing up his hair, too agitated to stop himself. He hadn’t manage to sleep the whole night.

Wolfgan seemed paralysed for a second, almost as if hit by a spell. But his tone changed. 

“We will prepare the travel,” Wolfgan stopped himself, growling a little. “I should have known. I was blind and mamka paid the price for all these years. I should have trusted myself and followed them...”

His eyes were watering and his face was tightening in shock. Geoffrey was feeling his despair shimmering right under his skin, and felt the hum at his throat, used to calming his little brother with old songs. He wouldn't do that in front of Wolfgan. Wolfgan would not take kindly to that, he thought. 

“Wolfgan,” he said, stepping closer to Wolfgan’s chair. “Even though I don’t know the location exactly, I’ll probably be able to feel Henry’s aura in the field.” He didn’t know if he was just projecting his pain, or if he really felt that way. What he knew was that he felt Henry’s despair as if it was his, and when he dreamt about the baby, he hasn’t been able to forget his cries since.  He took a deep breath.“If you take me to the mountains, I’ll be able to tell where he is. He’s your father, Wolfgan, you need to be strong for him. Please.”

Wolfgan looked forlorn and lost, but he straightened up in his chair. Geoffrey felt like he was stepping on false floor. He did not like seeing Wolfgan like that. It was unsettling and he feared… But he did not know what.

“Do not worry, karma is here, and what’s due to me will come soon, I feel it. I’ll talk to my father and we’ll travel to the mountains, and barricade on their walls. And there will be war,” he said shaking his head again. “I’m not taking you there. I’m…” he took a deep breath, as if it hurt to say it. “I  _ wasn’t _ strong enough to destroy a Frost Giant that day. Neither was my father. I won’t lose you to them too.” 

Geoffrey clenched his teeth. “I can protect myself, you know that.” 

Wolfgan’s eyes went hard and cold, and his voice made Geoffrey feel a shiver up his spine.

“Enough,” he said, standing up. Geoffrey took two steps behind, and Wolfgan followed, and his expression still frightened Geoffrey. He remembered then he couldn't let it show he scared him, he had to hold his ground. Wolfgan put his hands around his face and tilted it up so he could look at him. 

“If he’s alive, I’ll find him. There’s nothing on this earth that’ll stop me. But you will be here, safe, when it happens.”

Geoffrey stayed silent, and Wolfgan softened his grip, caressing his hair. He dropped a kiss on his forehead, rewarding him for his acquiescence. 

Wolfgan brought his face closer and Geoffrey closed his eyes when he forced a kiss. The room was dark, barely lit by the fast burning candles, and Geoffrey felt too tired and scared to fight him off. Wolfgan smelled like sweat, grass and smoke, Geoffrey thought. It was strangely comforting instead of disgusting, and it filled up something inside him. He tasted like wine and his kiss was punishing and possessive, but despite that it felt good to have him close again, to feel his heart beating. He felt himself panting when Wolfgan stopped attacking his mouth with his tongue, and saw hesitant, self doubting giant when he leaned back. Wolfgan put his hair behind his ear and leaned until he could feel his warm breath against it.

“Did you miss me? Please tell me.”

He sounded unsure of himself, Geoffrey thought. 

“Was it cold? ” Wolfgan continued. Geoffrey was wearing a simple nightshirt but he was clearly feeling cold, the fire roaring in the hearth, several blankets on the bed. The room could warm itself really quickly but apparently what was enough for him wasn’t for Geoffrey. He hoped with time he would get used to it.

Geoffrey looked down at him with a mix of pity and something else, something dark and angry. He knew why the man hadn’t tried to fight him yet, when before a simple touch would invoke the fire spells. Geoffrey was scared to start a fight he wouldn't win, knowing Wolfgan would end confrontation with Geoffrey naked on the bed.

Geoffrey’s lips were parted, trembling a little, maybe from the cold. He seemed to search his face for something, and then closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. Whatever battle happened inside his head, it seemed to have a good outcome for him, because Geoffrey slowly walked closer.

“I was cold, so cold…” he said, letting his voice go weak and lonely. 

Wolfgan's shoulders relaxed and he almost grew taller.

-.-

The next morning he sent a letter to his father. Wolfgan rested his elbows on his thighs. The thought of his mamka still alive in the mountains was destroy him once again, he could feel it. It had been somehow easier when he thought him dead. 

He’d left Geoffrey alone in the morning, and the prince seemed weirdly distraught by the idea. He asked again and again if he would know where to look for Henry, seeming very concerned. If he really had seen what he claimed to have, Wolfgan couldn't blame him for having nightmares. He had them too. Everytime he looked at the mountains he wondered if one day those giants would break through and try to claim the land back. Never once he thought he would be the one to break contract. But really, it was them who broke the seal. It was them who betrayed his people.

Wolfgan breathed through his nose and remember the night before.

Geoffrey, he did not deserve him. Oh, Geoffrey opened like a flower to him the night before, and he did not deserve any.

He had encircled the nymph in his arms and held him up, sitting on his bed with the creature on his lap. Wolfgan kissed his forehead when he heard a little sigh. Geoffrey slowly turned his head towards his neck and buried it there, bending his knee for him. Wolfgan took his slipper away, and took the pale feet in his head, massaging it for a while. He had already felt better. Despite being already aching, he wanted to be as slow as he could be, to savour it, and to discover Geoffrey’s body with more care than their first night.

The man was tense, but soon began to relax under Wolfgan’s ministrations, the caresses on his feet going up his calves and lower leg, under the robes. Wolfgan felt him spread his legs just a little, all by himself when the touch got to his thigh. He smiled, proud at the honest response. 

He touched him higher, where he could feel his undergarments. Soft wrapped silk, easily sliding down his legs with a little encouragement. He felt Geoffrey huff of shame when it felt to the floor. 

He trembled when Wolfgan’s hand came back, this time dangerously close to his crotch. It was wet there. He could see Geoffrey was ashamed to be already erect and pulsing. He wondered if he touched himself, when alone. He didn’t think so. He seemed way too cold for that. His brother once told him Geoffrey often behaved as if the gods were watching his every move. 

He touched with care the head of his cock, all too aware of how big his hand seemed, how clumsy. He knew they were fragile, the elves. He’d once ripped it all off, with one precise pull, of a mithlornian spy. Not too long ago, when he was barely of age to beside his father on the field, and Hull and Mithlorn were on the verge of war, and there were so many pale, blond messengers on his land he could kill three with one arrow. He’d been so angry then, feeling territorial, and scared, and very…very used to Henry’s forgiveness.

Geoffrey squirmed at the calloused touch of his fingers and he pulled away. He shushed him, kissing his panting mouth. His wandering fingers easily found their target, hiding between his cheeks. That’s what he wanted. But mostly, he wanted Geoffrey to want it. He caressed the opening, making it wet with Geoffrey’s essence. He did it again and again, never entering, until he felt it pulsing. Geoffrey’s hands found his heavy coat, the one he still had from the journey, and clutched them tight, making his knuckles white, and his eyes were lost, wanting and confused. He had looked like that on their first night too. He supposed this was the moment Geoffrey realized, or rather remembered, he wanted something inside.

He kissed him again, and Geoffrey sucked his thrusting tongue timidly, almost in a self comforting way. His hair cascaded down his back and one Wolfgan’s hands were there, tangling fingers clutching the soft strands close to his neck, and he supposed that was self comforting too. He wanted to enter him now, his hole was pulsing, almost begging for it. He felt the tip of his finger entering, and Geoffrey let out a faint moan, pulling away for the kiss. He let it rest there for a moment, then pulled out, and back in. He went further. 

Geoffrey seemed to relax, his muscles softened. His head fell back on his shoulder, and he moved his thigh against Wolfgan’s forearm. He couldn't read his face because it was once more tucked on his neck and Wolfgan didn’t know if he was feeling pain now.

He felt Geoffreys walls rippling around his finger. His body seemed to be trying to suck him in, trying to draw him deeper, and he trusted his finger in and out again. Geoffrey shivered and trembled in his arms when he rubbed against his button, and gave a pitiful moan, almost a sob.

“Why do you do this to me?” he whispered. Wolfgan knew Geoffrey thought for sure this was about humiliation, about anger. But it wasn’t. Oh, it wasn’t.

“Because this is the only time I feel like you’re really mine. And I really need to feel that. It’s not enough knowing,” he said, kissing his neck and suckling on the skin. “You are warm inside, and welcoming of me, and very honest, Geoffrey.” 

He took his finger out, to trust two back in. 

“I love you.” Geoffrey shivered and sobbed.

He knew Geoffrey was dry for two fingers, but he also knew his body needed that now. The prince arched his neck and let out a hoarse whine when he felt them inside, and his body pulsed around him again. He rubbed his perfect little spot gently, with firm pressure, 

“You are so beautiful, Dali,” he couldn't help but say. The words came out hoarse, because the man was squirming on his lap and he was ready to burst himself. 

Geoffrey bended forward, strands of hair moving across his face, and then he whimpered, and his belly undulated, and he felt him get incredibly tight around his fingers. Then he slumped against him, and reached out a trembling arm between his legs, touching Wolfgan’s flexing forearm, silently begging for him to stop. Wolfgan drew his fingers out, and touched Geoffrey’s belly, feeling the wetness there.

When Geoffrey didn’t move from his lap, Wolfgan carefully put his arms around him. He didn’t complain, only curled like a cat and laid his head on his chest.  Wolfgan could barely believe it was happening, Geoffrey completely comfortable and relaxed so close to him. He wanted to rip the robe from his body, so have him completely naked, to feel all of his skin. But this was already more than fine. Geoffrey remained passive to his kisses and his roaming hands, and Wolfgan smiled in victory.

~.~.~.~

It was that night, while Geoffrey arched his back to Wolfgan’s strong trusts, that he realized it. The night brought darkness into Golligan castle, and only the light of the fireplace helped him to see the warlord’s pleased face beneath him, his strong arms lifting up and down his cock. It was okay now. He did not understand much of it, of the feeling he got when Wolfgan was away, of the warmth beneath the warlord’s eyes when he looked at him, or the pure pleasure he felt when he was touched where no man should be touched.

That’s when he knew what Dali meant. The real meaning.

Dali meant whore. That was his place. He’d always knew it, but it was time to face it. Consort. A warm body for Wolfgan to sink into. And that’s how a Dali makes a Warlord a happy man.

That’s why he was broken from birth, that’s why he felt pleasure when taken from behind. It was his curse. He was never a prince after all.

Was it him that made his brother want to be a whore? The night he left with the prostitutes, was it because he was raised by a wicked brother? Did his darkness seep through when he wasn’t looking? No matter, he was safe in the temple now. The druids would look for him, and make sure he wouldn't stray again.

But maybe if he let Wolfgan use him by night, his heart would stop hurting in the morning. And when Wolfgan left to retrieve Henry, no doubt he would confront the giants upfront. That’s when Geoffrey would make himself useful, and Wolfgan would have his mamka back, and Geoffrey would be no more. 

Wolfgan would never know, and no one would miss him. Not his father, not his mother, and hopefully, not his brother.

~.~.~.~

 


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

The day after he sent the letter, he got the reply.

Wolfgan locked Geoffrey in his room, three guards assigned not to leave the door. Geoffrey was still screaming at him from the behind the locked doors and the soldiers were stiff, eyes widening at every curse aimed at Wolfgan and his family tree.

It had to be done. He knew Geoffrey would try something stupid otherwise. He left his wolves inside with him, as they would probably calm the druid down, and left orders for the guards to give Geoffrey wherever he wanted, but not to let him leave the castle, and to keep him in his room for as long as they could.

With a heavy heart, knowing Geoffrey might not forgive him, he walked down the stairs of his castle. A meeting was schedule with the giant's chieftain, Alkmog, where Wolfgan and Haomath would know what the next step was. If there was a traitor among the Giant's, their leader would have to hunt the kidnapper down. If they did not find Henry, or the traitor, then Wolfgan and Haomath would have no option but to ban the giants from the mountains of Hull, and he doubted they would leave quietly.

He remembered how it all begun. Two devils, Gulf and Kolin, the two giants he and his father fought to death two years ago.

They were hunting, he, his father and his mamka. It was his birthday, and they were journeying close to the mountains to hunt, and celebrate it. The huge giants came out of nowhere, right when they were about to cross a bridge. Wild and with strange intent in their eyes, they were intercepted close to a frail bridge that crossed a deep canyon.

Henry stood still on the bridge, and as they fought, one frost giant succumbed on the snow, blood painting the ground. The other fled towards him.

_"Do not come any closer, my son!" Henry said. "The bridge will not hold us all."_

He did it anyway. He ran to his mamka, and it was Haomath who held him down. The giant Gulf, still bloodied and almost dead, walked the bridge towards his Henry. The weight wouldn't hold. Henry tried to cross to the other direction, but when the giant fell to his knees halfway through, the bridge broke.

It broke.

Henry fell, and disappeared in the mist underneath the canyon.

He should have suspected when they didn't find the body, how could he? Now, Henry was alive somewhere, either captured by someone or trapped in the mountains deep labyrinths.

He could already see the city's gates ahead. To get into the mountain was tricky, but both warlords had experience in this part of the land. It was on the borders of Hull, and it was the part the giants claimed. Patrolling around here was mandatory, over the years.

It was colder here than in any other place, but snow did not fall and the air was heavy. Wolfgan glanced at Haomath, whose face was like stone, with only one goal in mind. They would get Henry back, one way or the other. The giants opened the huge metal gates for his party, enough soldiers to offer protection should they have to fight their way out. Giants, males and females, all dressed in pieces of leather and fur, guarded the gates and watched them enter the fortress.

-.-.

It was their chief that invited Wolfgan inside, and a guard of some kind accompanied them. Wolfgan and Haomath walked among the city towards the hut of the chieftain. Wolfgan's shoulders were tense. The females were about his size, and the males taller, but their back curved in strange ways., They were far from what he considered human. Yet, he came from one of them.

He could not feel any connection to these people.

He looked at some females passing through with dead wild pigs on their shoulders, primitive weapons on their hands, and he tried to imagine calling any of them mamka. But it was the image of Henry that fluttered in his mind, and squeezed at his heart. If he didn't know better, he'd say he came from Henry's womb, somehow. His first memories of childhood being in his mamka's lap, grabbing at the jug of hot milk, mamka's laughter and kisses and warmth… He shook his head, and again glanced at his father, who seemed also deep in thought.

"Do you remember who did you mate with, two winters past?" Haomath asked him, as they walked through the city. Kalifar was also by his side, and was listening closely.

Wolfgan was taken by surprise by the question.

"No, I was quite drunk, and they all looked the same to me. But what does it matter? The child died at birth."

Haomath did not answer, only nodded, still not sharing what he was thinking. Wolfgan did not ask.

Finally, they came to a hut that was bigger than others. It was an igloo of sorts, but he had never seen one so big and solid. It was big enough for at least three frost giants to live comfortably in, he thought. A strange bird was perched in one of the posts that held the hut together.

The door was made of leather, flapping in the wind. The giant accompanying him stopped, and made a sign for him to enter. He did, and his father followed, as did Kalifar. The rest of the soldiers that did not stop at the gate, stood outside of the hut.

What greeted him was a giant sitting on a strange chair made of bones. His metal and leather clothes indicated wealth, and strength. In front of him, an ice table held together, maybe even formed, by strange magic that Wolfgan felt vibrating from it. There was also some sort of magic static in the air, and he could tell the chieftain was hiding some kind of supernatural power. Being around Geoffrey for the last months ad made him sharp to tell it.

It was a shaman.

"Greetings to the Warlords of Hull. Please take a sit," he said, gesturing widely to the rest of the interesting chairs around the round ice table, a strange smile on his face, as if trying to mimic what a human would do. The three hullians were well protected against the cold, but as Wolfgan sat, he had the strange thought that if Geoffrey was here, he would be blue, and frozen. He would never let Geoffrey come to this parts of the mountain. His heart pounded stronger in his chest at the thought of Henry somewhere around. Could he really be alive? It was too surreal to believe.

The cold in Hull was natural. This was unnatural. Inhumane. The chairs of bones, the table, the air and the floor beneath his feet. And looking at the giant in front of him, the gray-white skin shining strangely, almost leather-like in places. The huge teeth protruding from his mouth... It was just something else entirely. He felt like destroying it.

As soon as Haomath sat down, he spoke. His voice boomed and it ended any amicable air the chieftain had attempted to create.

"Did you receive our message?" he said, simple and to the point. The chieftain dropped his smile, and a fist came to the table in stupendous strength.

"Yes! Angry I was to read it!" he turned his head to Wolfgan, and then to Haomath again, almost spitting from his mouth. "I am no traitor!"

His language was very close to Hullian but the growls were even more stronger, so strong it was hard to make out the words. Animal-like. But it was, in a way, perfect Hullian.

Haomath did not flinch, only leaned in further. His father was more used to talking to the giants, while Wolfgan had only met them in battle. In a way, it was new to him. He felt nostalgia, of accompanying his father to meetings and being in the background. Haomath was a Warlord once again, fuelled by the hope of Henry's still beating heart.

"Then, who is?" his father asked, voice dark. The chieftain narrowed his eyes, and looked around the table.

"I do not know," he said, but was quick to finish. "If your Dalikath is inside the mountain caves, he will be found! But I do not believe that. Elves wither and die in the cold!"

"And that is why he had me," Haomath growled. "You have seven days. If he is found dead, the contract is broken, the pact unmade and the gods will unleash their punishment on you. Giants, and Hullians will suffer." His voice growing darker and rougher at every word.

Chieftain Alkmog was no fool to trick the gods. The pact was old and the Warlords respected among their people, despite their differences. Before, both Hull and the Mountains surrounding it were uninhabitable, and the giants suffered while trying to find food. Many succumbed to diseases. When the first warlord came to the land, the gods blessed the place, and the Giants were able to come back to their homes. Plenty was the food, the cold appeased their hearts and the land was kind to the spirits.

Losing it would be painful. The pact was old.

In the Frost Giant's head however, reason was pushing hope into a dark corner. How could an elf survive in the mountains?

"Seven days," he said to both Warlords of strange culture. He would call upon the spirits, and no soul would be hidden from him. Dead or alive. "We will seek the traitor."

-.-

Breaking free from the castle was easy. The soldiers were easily swayed by Geoffrey's act, his weeping cries of how much he missed the warlord. Of how he had visions.

_I know he's dead! I just know it! Bleeding on the snow, no healer around. Oh, please, guide me to him! Take me to the horse so I can go to him! The wolves will keep me safe._

_I do not need company, thank you for your kindness ..._

_Now look closely into my eyes._

He left them sleeping on the stable, afraid that his magic wouldn't last long. The months spent in the castle only honed his healing skills and his knowledge on herbs, because Wolfgan never failed in returning from hunts and patrols hurt in one way or another, and watching him ignore his wounds was unnerving. Geoffrey had left any other studies behind, focused on this task and caring for the castle much as he did in the temple. He sighed, thinking about the Meladora herb Wolfgan brought. He would probably never had the chance to draw the plants healing salve from the thorns, and Wolfgan would throw them away after a while, not knowing what the rare plant is for.

The wolves whined and nipped at his ankles, standing in front of the horse, as if knowing their master would not approve of his disobedience. Geoffrey appeased their minds with a spell, but failed to make them stay behind. He feared the wolves would be harmed in his trip, and he did not want to make them victims of his mistake, but they would not leave, and Geoffrey did not have much time to spare.

He headed for the mountains, the cold of Hull hardening at each mile, to a point where he had to cast spells of warmth every twenty minutes past. He feared for his body, and irreparable damages, but reminded himself that it didn't matter. Wolfgan's furs draped across his back and enveloped him in a familiar scent, as he galloped through the snow. Once the ground became rocky and hard, he knew he was in the borders, and instead of following the path to the cities, he followed the path of the caves and the congealed rivers on the side of it. He came across a big abyss and some reminiscences of what had been a bridge, and he knew he was close. The wolves became focussed and sniffed everywhere.

As he trotted towards one particular cave he could see in the distance, he felt his heart pound and his blood grew even colder. The ground was almost translucent, and the rock was covered by bluish ice, magic emanating from it.

He heard the screams of past events in his head. The wind painted pictures of faded figures, a giant walking around this place. Henry was beneath this cave, miles from the gates of the giant's city. Geoffrey made his way to the cave that lead to Henry.

The wolves growled at the mouth of the cave. He felt them biting at his cape and his robes and looked down at them from his horse. They were big enough for his hand to reach out and touch their fur. He did that, and the fur was wet and somewhat frozen, but their core was hot. He knew they would survive this horrible cold.

He cast another spell on himself that was not even close to Wolfgan's body enveloping his in bed.

Shivering, he dropped from the horse. Ice and snow covered the rock and dirt and he could only see darkness inside. But he felt it. He felt the energy of life around him and beneath. The wolves whined and bit at his cape trying to take him back, but only managed to trip him.

"Get back!" he screamed at them, voice raw and broken, pointing towards Hull. "Seek your home!"

The wolves whined some more and even barked, but slowly inched away. Geoffrey hoped they were going back to the castle but he knew they were going to look for their owner. He sighed, turning back towards the mouth of the cave, the air hitting his face was humid and cold.

He entered the cave, making sure Wolfgan's cape was tight around him. At first, there was nothing. The cave was deep and he walked until he could see only darkness. His hands were quick to perform a spell, the fire from his hand lightening the cold floor of the cave. He could not see any holes. He would have to search more.

He crouched on the the ground and spread his hands, and he felt the vibration coming from underneath. How would he get there? But there was something else. Footsteps. He trembled, looking up.

There was a giant in the cave, disfigured and missing an arm. He could see badly, the small fire he made quickly fading away. He could not make sense of the information, his mind was in panic and his eyes grew blurry as the white fur and skin and teeth filled his vision. The whole ground trembled and shook, cracking. Before he could even think of a way to defend himself, the giant roared and picked him up, and Geoffrey could not feel his body anymore, and everything disappeared.

-.-

He woke up slowly, his head pounding. It was chilly, but something was warming him up. Beneath him there was softness. He could hear faint whimpers in the distance, childish whimpers, and an adult hand threading through his hair. He could hear a faint humming song too.

"Poor boy... Wake up my sweet, you need to heal," he heard someone say. Even before he opened his eyes, he knew it was Henry.


	11. Chapter 11

Geoffrey’s head was pounding and he was hearing echoes. The hands cradling his head were warm where everything else was cold. He tried to speak but could only cough violently. Trembling, he tried to calm his heart. He new it was the panic that was making him confused, and promptly controlled his breathing.

“That’s it. You’re doing great… You’re safe for now, do not worry,” The voice… Henry say to him, quietly. He opened his eyes again, flinching away at the light but it soon everything became clear. 

He looked up.

Henry looked exactly like the painting back in the castle, but still, it was surreal to see him. After so much time hearing descriptions from Wolfgan, he almost expected to see god-like creature, but Henry was much more simple. Much more gentle. His face was mature, but there were no harsh lines, almost like time did not touch him. 

“Henry…” he rasped. The man smiled, tugging him into a sitting position. The floor was hard and cold beneath him now.

“Well, you know me,” Henry said, “but I do not know you.”

Geoffrey looked around. He was in the place he saw in his visions. It was a cave, empty and small. On the corner, a fur cape lied on the ground and on top of it… A child. A hullian child, a little boy. 

The boy shook his little hands at him and smiled, drool rolling down his chin. He seemed wan, and fragile, surrounded by ice.

“What…” he stuttered. It was the boy of his visions. 

He looked behind him. There was no way out, no doors. He was so confused.

“Shh, it’s alright. He’s gone for now.”

“The giant? We need to get out of here!”

Henry was dressed in heavy winter clothes but they were sort of in tatters. It was clear he had shed the cloak for the child, but Henry was not freezing. 

He was not even shaking. Neither was Geoffrey.

Geoffrey easily came to the conclusion the cave was under a spell. A powerful one. In fact, it could be a talisman or a shrine doing the spell, because Geoffrey did not believe a giant was capable of such a thing.

He stood up shakily and Henry rose with him.

“We need to get out,” he said weakly, looking around. “I… I’m Geoffrey. I came to free you, but he caught me first.”

Henry’s smile grew sad, and he gently put his hands on Geoffrey’s shoulders, shaking away dirt and snow. The child was saying gibberish, random syllables.

“There’s no way out of here. Believe me, I’ve been here for a very long time,” Henry said, eyes somber and tired. “You were foolish to come. Brave and foolish.”

“No!” Geoffrey said, shaking his head. His whole blood ran cold in fear. The child had black hair and black eyes and… Wolfgan? He shook his head. “They are looking for you! Your family, Haomath and Wolfgan!”

Henry shook his head.

“No, they aren’t. They think me dead. Who are you, Geoffrey? How did you get here?”

Geoffrey released a tired breath, feeling his shoulders sink. The boy was gurglishing and he felt a deep need to go to him. It was calling to him. He ignored it. 

“I had a vision, I saw you and this child alive in this mountains. It was me that told your family you were alive and not dead”

Henry joined his hands beneath his chin. “A vision... Are you a shaman? Are you working for my Haomath?”

Geoffrey shook his head. “No, I am a druid, and I’ve been taught magic by the elders but I never had visions before. The only vision I had was you and this… Boy.” he trailed off, glancing at the child, who was getting a bit nervous with all the chatter. He was whining a little, beginning to sob. Henry turned to him and gently bent down to gather him in his arms. The child promptly hugged him and laid his head on his shoulders.

_ Not Wolfgan… _

“And how do you know me? You are clearly not a hullian, my dear.” Henry said, voice growing more nervous. Haomath and Wolfgan were around and hope was growing inside his chest without his permission.

“I’m Geoffrey… I am… Wolfgan’s… Wolfgan’s. I’m his.” Geoffrey stuttered. He knew he was red in the face, and Henry was a little confused.

“What do you mean, Geoffrey?” The child began to chatter again at the name.

Geoffrey looked down at his hands. He could not say it. He was too ashamed..

“I’m his slave. I serve him.”

“That’s strange” Henry said. “Wolfgan does not keep slaves, only servants. And his servants are only hullians.”

Geoffrey was quiet. Everything was going horribly wrong and he could not do anything about it. Henry came closer and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Please tell me everything, from the beginning.”

Geoffrey told him. From the moment he came to Hull to build the temples, to meeting Wolfgan and knowing of Henry’s passing, and then - painfully, and sort of mumbling about - how he tried to trick Wolfgan into owning the Calim land without him knowing of the consequences of that. He left out how angry Wolfgan was when he found out, and how he married him out of spite to use his body. He told him instead that Wolfgan took him as a slave for his treachery. He felt like a little boy, trying to hide his mess from a parent, and he did not know why Henry and Haomath’s relationship did not bother him as much as his with Wolfgan, but now was not the time to ponder.

Henry nodded along until the end, eyes full of sadness.

“I understand. But that still does not sound like my boy at all...”

Geoffrey walking around the cage. Looking up, he could see some sort of metal bars. Like a window, but on the ceiling.“It does not matter. I came to take you back, Henry. I need to figure out a way to break those bars.”

Henry shook his head, “You can’t, there’s no way out. If you make too much noise he’ll come and… I promised him I would be quiet. You see, he’ll hurt the boy otherwise.”

The child stretched his hands, grabbing at Geoffrey's furs. “Who is he?” Geoffrey asked, taking the small pudgy hands in his.

Henry sighed. “This is my grandson. That wretched giant tried to kill him, but I convinced him to let me care for him. They don’t want Wolfgan to know he has an heir.”

“Why?” Geoffrey was more confused than ever. 

“It’s the plan of the giant that took me. I don’t know his name, he never told me. They want to break the cycle, they want Wolfgan to believe he can’t sire any child. They would kill them all-” he said, hugging the baby to himself, “And then, when Wolfgan failed to bring an heir forth, the giant and the one that carried and birthed the boy, they want to make their chieftain take hull back.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Geoffrey said. “Wolfgan is not stupid, by the second time he’d have the mountains raid and sacked.”

Henry smiled. “You do know Wolfgan well.  And you’re brave to come out here to help me. If we ever get out of here, I’ll have a talk with him, and you’ll be free, Geoffrey.”   
Geoffrey spluttered, but before he could say anything, he felt the walls shaking. Droplets of ice fell on the three of them, and the child wailed.

Henry was tense, his body trying to protect the child at all cost. “There he comes,” he said. “Shush, honeybee, shush.”

Geoffrey was shaking with adrenaline. When he came to the cave he was sure he could defend himself from the giant. But he was no match for it, now he knew it. The bars were gripped by an ugly, scarred hand and lifted. He heard a roar.

“What is this noise? Can’t the elves not be silent? I’ll rip your tongues off!”

Geoffrey prayed the wolves would get to Wolfgan. The warlord would knew where to find them, he was sure.

“I’m sorry,” Henry cried, “We won’t make noises anymore, but the baby will cry if you keep screaming!”

Henry was definitely tired and at the end of his wits. Geoffrey felt useless and ashamed, now trapped here and with not a clue of how to get out. The giant would kill him.

“That’s it, no food for neither today! Let’s see how that shuts you up.” He let the bars swing close. Henry moaned.

“That’s not good. He already denied milk and water for the child the day before!”

Geoffrey took a good look at the boy. He was openly crying now, looking pale and tired. Well, at least Geoffrey could do something about his. He learned how to swap vital energy while dealing with his infant brother after all, whenever he fell into illness and the herbs didn’t do much.

“Give him to me,” Geoffrey said, holding his hands out, “I can feed him.”

Henry was skeptical, but handed the child over. Geoffrey began to unwind the magic in his core, which was hard because he was still tired and there was already a spell in the room, interfering with his own. He cradled the child and rocked him, and something in him fell into place. The child grabbed at his cape and rested easily, and he sat down on the ground. Henry did the same, stumbling a little, and Geoffrey was also worried for his health. He had to think. Had to do something about this. 

There had to be a way to free them.

“Magnificent,” Henry whispered, “You can nurture with magic! I wish I had that when Wolfgan was little…”

“I’m not nurturing him,” Geoffrey laughed, “Only giving him life energy. He can live out of this and he will not die until nothing is left out of me.”

Henry paled. “You are hurting yourself like this?”

“He is too small to hurt me too much,” Geoffrey hugged the child closer. “With time it can become a problem, if I don’t feed too, but let’s hope they find us first.”

Henry took his cape from the ground and huddled close to them, “Let’s us hope, then.”

-.-

Two wolves desperately ran across the snow. Their noses were good enough to tell them where a large number of hullians were. Accustomed to finding their master in small groups of soldiers during patrol, both were quick to run towards it. They raced, until they found their master on a horse along with other soldiers, and frost giants, between the rocky, icy valleys of the border. 

Ignoring the frost giants, despite their will to hunt them down, they ran towards their master’s horse. 

-.-

Wolfgan saw the wolves coming from afar, and a bad feeling spread in his chest. He unmounted and kneeled down, and the wolves came barreling down on him, licking his face and yipping desperately. 

“What is it?” he asked, confused. “Where is Geoffrey?”

The wolves began to walk away from him, stopping no to far, and making desperate motions, shaking and jumping while he watched.

“Something happened to Geoffrey. I think they know where he is.” 

Haomath nodded, from up his stallion. “If he’s around the mountains, he might have fallen under the same trap as Henry.” 

Wolfgan mounted again, and heard the chieftain walking towards him. They had been waiting for him to perform his spell and call upon the spirits to find souls underneath the caves.

“I’ve not seen Henry, but I’ve seen a giant, mauled and filled with darkness, inside a cave. It is towards the direction your wolves go. I believe they scented the elf!”

“More like followed the elf,” Wolfgan muttered. “Let’s not waste time here. I want that giant’s blood on the ground.”

The hullians followed their warlords, and the giants trailed after.

-.-

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

They found the cave quickly, under the heavy snow that was now falling down. The wolves were desperate, now fuelled with confidence knowing their master was with them. Growling at the mouth of the cave, they challenged whoever dwelled there to come forth. Their howls and growls echoed against the darkness within.

Wolfgan unmounted, and so did the others. Haomath unsheathed his sword, and walked along Wolfgan towards the entrance of the cave.

It was deep and too dark to see, so Kalifar provided a torch. They all entered the cavern, which seemed to be empty and abandoned at first, but they kept going, trusting the wolves to guide them.

Finally they began to see bones thrown about on the floor and piled against the walls. Some were makeshift weapons, and others still had meat and blood on them. Wolfgan saw leather and makeshift benches and further, sitting on a pile of furs, he finally was a giant, sleeping soundly and making horrible sounds as he did so.

Wolfgan growled at the horrible figure, and so did the wolves. Missing an arm, and an eye, he also had half of his face scarred. Wolfgan did not pity him however. He kicked the bed, violently, and it turned with a terrible cracking noise. Filled with an insane bloodthirsty and anger, he watched the giant cry in alarm as he attempted to turn around and make sense of the situation. He struggled to get up and a sinister chuckle could be heard coming from Haomath.

"Who are you!" The giant screamed, finally managing to get up. Haomath's smiled slowly vanished, replaced by a dark expression.

"Why don't you look closely into my eyes, Gulf? I'm sure you'll remember," he said. Wolfgan widened his eyes. Could it be that giant? _He must have survived the fall, just like Henry_ , he thought.

The giant snarled, twitching the stub left of his arm away, as if the memory hurt the phantom limb. He was barely dressed in pieces of leather, covering only his mid section. Wolfgan knew that only the castaway giants wore clothes like this, devoid of any indication of wealth or position. Gulf had been hiding away from his people for a long time.

"You! And you, too!" Gulf said, looking at Wolfgan with a disgusted frown. He was twitching now, and his voice was shaky. "W- what right has you to enter my cave like this? The border does not belong to you, half-breed!"

"You have ten seconds to tell us where he is," Wolfgan said, "Your death is certain but it can come quicker."

The giant was frozen for a couple of seconds, but then spit to the side, dismissing them. "I don't know what crazy shit you speak off, get out!"

"Gulf, this is your chieftain," Alkmog said, stepping through the soldiers. "You have committed a despicable thing. We know what you hide here."

Gulf was visibly surprise to see his chieftain, and coughed violently. "I- I do not know what you speak of!"

Wolfgan stepped forward, sword trained on the giant with deadly intent, and Gulf scrambled backwards, now trembling. He knew there was no way out now, and he could only hope the child was weak enough to die even after a possible rescue.

"I swear! I don't know!"

"Wolfgan! He is our only lead!" Haomath stated firmly, "Be reasonable!"

Wolfgan stopped for a second, and thought about it. "Yes, " he said, "I understand, vaderka."

And promptly slid his sword forward, blade slicing like butter though he kneecap of the frost giants, bringing him to his knees.

"That's a boy," said Haomath, nodding. The balanced the tip of his sword into the cave's icy ground, and joined his hand at the handle.

The giant's scream filled the cavern, and his blood travelled the ground. He kneeled there, panting.

"They are b-beneath…" he said, agonising the words. He clutched his knee, and did not look up. "Beneath the ground."

"How do we get there?" asked Haomath. It brought him enormous satisfaction seeing him bleed on the ground.

"Further down," Gulf said, "down the hole, down in the dwellings."

Wolfgan looked behind the giant. The cave made a curve, walls moist and strong, and seemed to continue downwards, in a narrow passage.

"Why?" Wolfgan turned back to the giant. "Why did you do it?"

The giant snarled. "Wicked half breed! Demon child!" He paused, and with a heavy breath, he showed Wolfgan all of his teeth.

"I should have killed it." he said, snarling like a rabid wild animal. "But the gods were angry… Angry!" Wolfgan frowned. Something wasn't right.

Haomath stepped forward, lifting his heavy sword and bringing it down in one motion. The head of Gulf fell down, while his body still stood in it's position, blood running down his skin like a river, splashing both warlords and Kalifar.

"He's no use any more," he said, kicking his body over. " May the shadows feast upon his soul."

Wolfgan nodded, still puzzling over the beast's last words. He walked over the giant's body towards the cavern's passage.

"Let's continue down."

-.-

The screams and voices startled him. Geoffrey had almost fallen asleep on the floor, the child's comforting and warm weight on his lap, steady breathing lulling him into sleep. He had enveloped the child in the cape he was wearing, and the boy had slept with a hand still clutching his hair, after having tugged and played with it for a while. He was enchanted with the boy, tiny creature of such strong features. A half giant, half hullian baby, and already showing it.

The colour had come back to his cheeks and he seemed already stronger. Geoffrey gazed at him, bending down to peck his short black hair with a kiss.

He felt like crying for a moment, knowing he would never had this. Henry was deep asleep beside him, shamelessly curling against them both. He was thin and fragile, smaller than Geoffrey but not much. It was strange and unsettling for him how carefree and accepting he was, how he had not hesitated to put his head on Geoffrey's shoulders and fall asleep. Geoffrey could almost hear his father, almost see him face scrunching up in disgust in front to him. He fought the will to flinch away from the other male. Henry did not deserve his judgement, he was cold and deprived of human interaction for a long time, terrified out of his wits.

But his father's voice growled inside his head...

_What the hell are you doing, Geoffrey?_

_What is wrong with you, why can't you act like a man?_

His cruel laughter.

_This is the third woman you've sent away, Geoffrey. People will start talking, and don't you want children anyway?_

He shook his head. His past was so far behind it shouldn't matter.

He had been humming a song, more for his own comfort than any of them. He had let the child's beating heart and Henry slow breathing calm him. That's when he heard a thump. From them on, a lot of voices and noises and sometimes screams. He couldn't make out the words, nor recognize the voices, but he knew exactly what was happening.

He turned to Henry and shook him fast.

"Henry, wake up. I think something is happening."

Henry opened his eyes immediately and Geoffrey wondered if he always slept lightly here. Probably, and he would have done the same living under the giant.

"Oh, I can hear it," he said, eyes wide and disbelieving. "You really… Oh goodness, they are here."

Geoffrey stood with the child on his arms, still sleeping, oblivious to his approaching freedom. Soon enough, he saw a figure approaching the bars, and Wolfgan's strong hands lifting them.

"Mamka?"

Wolfgan's voice was almost childish and fragile, as if he was afraid to look down and see the worse.

Henry's voice responded, trembling and small. He was crying.

"Wolfgan!" he said. "It's me, baby, help us to get out."

"Quick now, let's rip that open," It was Haomath's voice, and soon they could see him too, looking down. "I'm here, love. It's over now."

Both managed to rip the iron bars from it's place, and Kalifar came through with a rope, which he dropped down. It was not such a high ceiling but Geoffrey was still worried about the child. The boy was now awake, looking up in awe.

Henry climbed up first, and they manage to get the child up by tying a small branch to the rope, and making a seat. Geoffrey helped him to hang on to the rope, and performed a small spell so he wouldn't fall. Then, he climbed out himself. Haomath was already guiding Henry out of the cave, baby in his arms, and Wolfgan was quick to hold on to Geoffrey's waist and did the same. The whole way out he did not look nor spoke to Geoffrey, but his firm hold and quick actions told him that he was just nervous and on battle mode.

"They're alive! The pact was not broken!" He heard a giant say in the middle of many soldiers. When he finally reached the end of the cave the light of the day was blinding, and he turned his body completely to Wolfgan, who embraced him tightly.

He heard the child crying out and instinctively turned back to him. Haomath was hugging Henry and whispering something to him, and he could see he was trying not to cry. The child was being held by a confused soldier, beside them. Geoffrey tried pulled away from Wolfgan.

"Get him back, Wolfgan," he said. "It's yours!"

Wolfgan refused to listen, and he lost sight of the child once again when they moved. His eyes were blurry and he was quite sure he was still shaking. Wolfgan refused to let go of him and he found himself up in a horse.

Everything was a blur after that, and he could only hope the boy was fine.

-.-

Geoffrey watched them speak, sitting in the corner of the room, in a comfortable chair. The wolves were by his side, refusing to leave him alone. Wolfgan was a mix between anger, fascination and happiness. He made a thousand questions to Henry, who was sitting in a comfortable sofa, with Haomath by his side.

Once in awhile he turned to him and the child who was sitting in his lap. In the castle, Henry explained who the child was, and Wolfgan immediately took hold of it. He had been enthralled with the child, the spitting face of his father, until the boy began to cry and he quite obviously did not know what to do with it.

Geoffrey had been quiet while they discussed the rescue in a comfortable room in the castle of Golligan, afraid of catching their attention. He had no idea how he would explain himself to Henry. But as soon as the child cried, no doubt still hungry, he stood and quietly asked Wolfgan to hand him over.

"I can make him quiet while you talk," he said, as an explanation. Wolfgan's eyes swept over him for the twentieth time or so. Since out of the cave, he had been constantly checking him over, but his face was set to stone when he looked at him. It was the face of battle, the face he put when he did not want to show fear or any emotion at all, he knew this. Geoffrey knew that look too well.

Wolfgan's eyes softened at the words, thought. It seemed the child was already carving a soft spot in the warlord's hardened heart.

"We need to talk, Geoffrey," he said, handing the child over. Geoffrey said nothing, merely taking the child in his arms and going back to the chair. The servants were quick to fetch milk for the child, and he thanked them.

And his insides were like ice.

He knew they were talking about him, now. They looked at him every now and then, and Henry seemed shocked. Haomath took his hand and seemed to explain something over, while Wolfgan remained quiet, face still unreadable to Geoffrey.

Geoffrey looked down at the child's bright black eyes. He was smiling. Geoffrey played with his thick hair while his heart raced.

He heard noises and looked back at them. Haomath and Henry were standing up, and Wolfgan did the same. They were walking towards him. Henry's face was full of sympathy and comprehension, and Geoffrey felt like dying. Henry bent down and took the child, at the same time kissing Geoffrey's head while he stood.

"I approve of his choices," he said in his ear, still smiling softly. Soon they were gone and only Wolfgan remained in the room. He stood looking at him, for awhile.

"I'm sorry," Geoffrey said, aimlessly, after a long silence. Wolfgan came to him, and knelt by his feet.

"Do you even know what you're saying that for, _siren_?" Wolfgan said, with a humourless chuckle.

Geoffrey was quiet. Wolfgan sighed, and lifted a hand to his face, caressing his hair.

"You're impossible," Wolfgan said. "But I understand now."

Geoffrey was puzzled. How could Wolfgan understand, if not even himself knew what was going on inside his heart. He looked at Wolfgan, and he knew that at some point he had fallen in love with him.

It terrified him.

One part of him craved to go to the temple, and punish himself. Tell the priests of his sins, tell the elders, anyone. His father even.

Another part of him was a lost boy crying out for Wolfgan.

Asking for help.

"You are not mine, Geoffrey, even though I am yours completely," Wolfgan said. Geoffrey looked up, wide eyed. Those words felt like a knife to his chest and he lost his air.

"You want to be free, Geoffrey, don't you?" Wolfgan said, voice rough and sad _and dying.._ . _Stop it, stop it stop it shut up shut your mouth-_

"You don't love me like I love you. You fell like a slave to me, when I fell like a _husband_ to you."

Geoffrey felt like an ice statue, he felt like stone, like heavy stones sinking in the river-

" _Hellig Dali meg_ ," Wolfgan said, kissing his hands, "The temple is your home, and my home is in you. A cruel fate for _kragforer._ "

Geoffrey was not even able to translate the words any more. Wolfgan looked up in pure adoration.

"You brought my mamka back like you promised. You also found my child."

Geoffrey's eyes blurred and he could hear a child crying out in the distance.

_It's my fault I'll never have him, I'm cursed, I'm alone, I'm alone again-_

"I'll take you back home, Geoffrey," Wolfgan said, and his voice was disappearing. "You'll have to go, _liv meg_ , because if you don't I swear to god I will lock you up here forever with me. Like a giant in a cave."

His chuckle was dry and sounded to Geoffrey like a wolf's last howl at the moon.

\-----

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some people asked about the language hullians use, and because we go back to some of that language in this chapter I thought I would answer that. It's the giant's language in Forgotten Realms - D&D, mixed with some Dutch and Czech. The dictionary was based in Scandinavian languages too, but I don't know which of them, sorry. Here's the dictionary: forgottenrealms . wikia . c o m/wiki/Giant_dictionary
> 
> Sorry about the cliffhangers, but we're getting to the end. Things are happening quite fast and I'm having trouble avoiding them. It's really not on purpose. Also, trust me? This has a happy ending. These two fools will get in sync eventually :)


	13. Chapter 13

Harles went livid when he saw his brother in the doors of the temple. Hullian servants were putting his little belongings on the ground, looking confused and lost at their Dali, not having been given a lot of information. Well, neither has Harles been given any information about this. Geoffrey looked absolutely awful. He had bags under his eyes and they were slightly puffy, and he was looking at Harles in a way he had never done before.

Everything was still for a second, as Geoffrey stood there looking inside of the temple, as if not sure it would welcome him once again. It only lasted a second. Harles went to him, embracing him in a tight hug, while the people around the temple took his things to his previous room, which had remained intact. He had missed his brother and seeing him in this condition after such a long time was making him panic a little.

Geoffrey froze in his arms for a while, and then melted, not making a sound. He didn’t cry and Harles was relieved to see he was still himself enough not to do something he might consider embarrassing. Harles would not mind, having thrown terrible tantrums in the past, but Geoffrey would never allow himself to do such a thing.

“Let’s go to your room,” Harles said, in a rushed voice, “And then you’ll tell me if I need to poison Wolfgan or something.”

Geoffrey could only stand there, looking tiny and fragile while the people around avoided to stare, out of respect, and helped him up the temple’s stairs.

Once inside his room, and away from the eye of the servants and the usual temple dwellers, Geoffrey sagged and lost a lot of composure. He sat in his bed, tired and worn out from the long trip, and Harles made a note to draw him a bath.

“What happened, Geoffrey?” Harles asked, scared to listen. The only possibility of Geoffrey bring here without the warlord by his side, would be because the warlord himself let him go. Harles knew Wolfgan was a possessive bastard. He wouldn't let Geoffrey leave his side just like that, so he could only imagine that he abandoned Geoffrey, after he got tired of him.

“Stop,” Geoffrey said, performing a quick spell to heal some of the rashes caused by horse riding. “Wolfgan did not force me out. I came because I asked, and he let me go.”

“I don’t believe it,” Harles said, without thinking. It was just preposterous to imagine that. “He wouldn't.”

“He did,” Geoffrey said. “We found his mother… his mamka. I found his mamka, and his son was there too, so he said… He said I could leave if I wanted to.”

Harles was speechless, but not for long.

“How?” Harles asked. Suddenly, all was making sense. Wolfgan was prideful, and had a warped sense of justice. He _would_ do something like this.

Geoffrey explained the rescue, while Harles took the wooden tub tucked aside in the room and pushed to the center. It was a small room, Geoffrey had always insisted in being treated like the common man. Harles asked for a temple assistant to bring warm water, and Geoffrey frowned, but didn’t complain.

Harles helped him undress while the water filled.

“You’re crazy. He would have found them anyway, you did it out of spite Geoffrey.”

Geoffrey entered the tub slowly. “No, I just had to go, Harles. You don’t understand.”

Harles scoffed, angry and wounded up. How many times he thought about this and said nothing?… It has always been this way between Geoffrey and Wolfgan.

“No, I _do_ understand. You did it out of spite. You did it because you want to defy him always. Can’t you see?”

Geoffrey sank in the tub, turning his head away.

“No,” he sighed, tired. “I don’t. I really don’t.”

Harles sat beside him, on the outside of the tub, and played with his hair.

“You always do this when you’re confused. That’s exactly what happened when father forced that woman on you. You wanted his guidance, you wanted him to understand you, and he never understands.”

Geoffrey was quiet. Being disowned for refusing to marry had been hard, but not because of public shame. It was the words of his father that haunted him.

“Geoffrey, it’s okay to be like you are.”

“Shut up,” Geoffrey spit out. “Shut it.”

“No,” Harles said, frowning. “Please don’t do something stupid. If you love him, go back, I’m sure he’ll understand. Why don’t you just-”

“I’m not a filthy man lover, I was only with him because he forced me!” Geoffrey said, harshly.

Harles smiled, sadly. “Well, I’m a filthy man lover. Do you still love me?”

Geoffrey was quiet, but Harles could still hear his breathing speeding up.

“I ran away with the whores because no one understood me. I thought that was the only way to be with a man, Geoffrey,” he said. He knew he was sounding bitter, but it still hurt a little.

Geoffrey didn’t answer, however there was that look on his face again. Like he wanted to cry.

“You’re so lucky Geoffrey, that it was a Hullian that fell in love with you. I thought about running for that land so many times… Damn it, he married you, Geoffrey. He made you his!”

“I’m sorry for what happened to you, “ Geoffrey said, voice tired, still trying to evade the topic of Wolfgan. “I’m sorry that I couldn't help you more.”

“You did help me, “ Harles said, still smiling. “You ran away too, and you looked for me. You never gave up until you found me.”

Geoffrey was clearly distressed, and Harles thought it was best to leave him alone.

“Again, please, don’t do anything stupid, Geoffrey. Calim land is Wolfgan’s now, remember that. He probably still wants you where he can protect you. Don’t go back to father just because you’re confused,” Harles finished, terribly afraid of Geoffrey doing something like that. “Please.”

“Don’t worry,” Geoffrey said with a smile. It was wan and false, but it was there. “I wouldn't do that.”

-.-

Two weeks had passed and Wolfgan found the giant that birthed his son. She was decapitated, along with all the others that conspired against the child. Haomath was with him the entire time, and the borders were tense and dangerous, hullians coming and going all the time. Chieftain Alkmog complied, but Wolfgan knew it was only a matter of time before a more charismatic giant convinced him and changed his opinions.

The giants had already been expulsed from so many territories across the lands they were forced to act more civilized now, for the sake of survival. Hiding their cruel nature and sadistic ways, they were few, and they knew their race was vulnerable.

Wolfgan could see right through their eyes. They were just waiting for a reason to betray.

Wolfgan and Haomath left the city under the watchful eyes of the Frost Giants, and he knew his son would be the last half-blooded warlord.

 _He almost died,_ dark angry voices whispered inside his head. _They would have killed his child, his mamka and his Geoffrey._

All he could do was wish he could see Geoffrey right now, and guard him closer.

-.-

Geoffrey’s hair was spread around the narrow bed, and he was clutching the sheets, feeling warmth across his belly. He woke up startled and panting, immediately turning around, expecting someone there. There was no one, just like the nights before. He fell himself hard and wet, and moaned in shame. Wolfgan’s name in the tip of his tongue.

Sinful, wrong, he thought. But he wanted it anyway. He wanted him. He missed him. It all happened too fast. Three weeks without seeing him felt wrong. _It was wrong_. There was nothing that smelled like him in his room, there was nothing warm like him… And large like him, so large it could made him forget everything else.

Geoffrey felt like whining, he felt like demanding Wolfgan’s presence right at this instance. He felt like being lost in a giant valley, the sky reaching out for miles, and he was alone, with no guidance and no protection.

For the first time he traced his hands down his naked legs. He remembered Wolfgan’s rough, callused hands doing the same, and his whole body trembled. He felt the wetness in his thighs, coming from the tip of his member. His hands, timid and shaking, caressed his cock. It was awkward and strange, and he had to imagine it was Wolfgan that was doing it. He pictured his wide chest in his head, his strong arms around him, and sighed. He wanted that.

He tried to explore the place Wolfgan did, deep inside himself. Circling the tiny puckered entrance made his whole face burn and he quickly gave up. Wolfgan made it all seem so easy, so effortless, but he felt himself tight and unyielding. He made it pleasurable when he entered him. All Geoffrey could feel was frustration.

-.-

The very next day he went to the elders. He had to, or he knew he would end up doing something worse. It was tempting to reach out to his father. It was tempting to go back and beg for forgiveness, and it was tempting to endure another woman’s touch while they unsuccessfully tried to make him _work_ , and do his job _as a man_ , just so that he had a purpose again.

He promised Harles he wouldn't, however, and he knew that even if he tried, he just wasn’t that person anymore. Life outside of Mithlorn changed him. Hopefully, it made him stronger than that.

The elders sat around a table, looking at him weirdly. The temple had been in their possession for a while, and they taught him druidism, along with magic and the worshiping of their gods. They never expected the young man to ask such an immoral thing.

Geoffrey did not flinch at the stares. He thought if the bond was broken he wouldn't think about Wolfgan no more. Maybe it was he bond making him crave the warlord.

“You can’t be unbounded,” Eldrin said. His beard was as white as snow, and his eyes were blue. He was blind, and still he looked straight at Geoffrey, as if he could sense his soul. “You used an ancient bond, that wouldn't happen if it was not supposed to.”

“You don’t want to do it,” Geoffrey said. “You _can_. You just don’t want to.”

Eldrin face turned sympathetic, and he turned to Taanyth. He was the youngest one, and a pure elf, so he did not look more than forty years old despite being twenty years older than that. He had looked for refuge in Calim land, being far aways from his home. Pure elves were not well received by most mythlornian people. Their mystical faces and allure were considered manipulative, and they were known to be cold blooded and of treacherous nature, but Taanyth had always been a kind man to Geoffrey.

“You’ll be hurt, Geoffrey,” Taanyth said, calmly. “You’ll harm yourself, and it might not even work.”

“I know it is unusual, but please, at least attempt.”

The elders murmured between themselves, but it was hard to deny Geoffrey. The prince had constantly sacrificed himself to give them a home in the past, defying his father and the entire council.

So they made the spell, and carved the floor of the room with the runes, and it shone. However, no matter how much they tried, or changed the runes they used against it, the bond seemed to prevail. Strong and wild, the attacks against it did not hurt Geoffrey, but it did hurt the elders.

The prince left the room dejected and feeling more lonely than ever.

-.-

Wolfgan entered the baby’s room, slowly and silently. He was sleeping soundly in his new crib, made of wood and decorated with fine metals. It was perfect and beautifully made by a trusty carpenter, along with other mobilia of the room.

He named the child Ulrik, and he was recovering well. Henry explained to Wolfgan all that the little one went through, and how it miraculously remained healthy even in the worse circumstances. He was so proud of him.

He also told him, with wide eyes, how Geoffrey had managed to feed him in those last hours.

He could see the elf here now. He would be perfect to him, would brush his hair countless times until it was silky and settled. He would teach him how to be completely different from Wolfgan, and it wouldn't work. He'd try again, glaring at Wolfgan's back every time little Ulrik did something crazy. He would sing for him when he was scared, and sway his crib just right.

He would do all these things Wolfgan couldn't. The warlord already felt like the child missed him these last weeks.

Haomath had only nodded when he told him Geoffrey was going back to the temple and that he was going to let him as a thank you for bringing Henry and Ulrik to them.

“He’ll come back,” he said, as if this was nothing but a test on Geoffrey. “He’s yours. I can see it.”

Wolfgan didn’t know anymore. He desperately seeked to go to Calim and bring him back to the castle. He wouldn't go back on his word, though. It was true, what vaderka had said so long ago.  If Geoffrey was meant to be his, then he would come to him. He wouldn't leave him. He’d stay, just like Henry had stayed by vaderka side.

_Why he can’t be sweet to me, like you are to vaderka, mamka?_

Ulrick yawned and opened his eyes slowly. The baby reached out for him. Wolfgan took his hand.

“You’re going to grow strong,” he said, and it was true. Soon he would be slipping between his fingers, running around and hurting himself. Hullians grew too fast.

-.-

Geoffrey gazed at the sunset in Calim. He was at the top of the temple, where he could see far in the distance. It was a beautiful place, with a hidden herb garden and glass windows and it worked as a greenhouse in the winter.

He opened one of the windows a little, and the evening breeze flew through. Out in the distance, between the trees, he could hear a wolf howling. It was what brought him here.

The wolf was not real, he was sure of it. There were no wolves in Calim land, and unless one of Wolfgan’s giant wolves had followed him here, the wolf howling was in his imagination.

There was another possibility.

It could be Wolfgan. Not _his Wolfgan_ , but the hullian god.

He wanted to go back to Hull, desperately now. It was a longing that has taken over him. The problem was, Wolfgan would not take him. He thought Geoffrey was holy or some other nonsense. He would not take him back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He hoped the god was hearing. “I can’t go.”

He knew it part of the problem was his pride, preventing him from going. He couldn't bring himself to do that, and have Wolfgan turn him away. It would be humiliating.

However, Geoffrey’s resolve was crumbling. Every night that went by, he yielded more. He dreamt about him, and he prayed for him. He wondered if he was away from the castle, fighting. If he was hurt or hurting someone else.

He wandered about the child.

Wolfgan knew how to take charge of things, and Geoffrey needed him to do that now. It was out of Geoffrey’s control. He needed Wolfgan to take control.

It was easy, that. Wolfgan loved control.

So, why couldn't he come here, and take Geoffrey back?

He did not notice the first tears, only the blurriness. It was easy to let the tears run down now that he was alone, and the wolf’s howling only made it worse.

Geoffrey closed the window and ran down the stairs. He was acting on impulse, and his hands were trembling. He reached the study where the paper and the ink was kept, and opened the door slowly. There was no one there. He closed the door behind him and walked to the little table.

He sat down and opened the drawers, putting everything he needed on top of the table. Memories from a letter that started this all reached him, and he felt a little more confident.

Wolfgan was _his._ He _always_ came when he asked, and _always_ did what he wanted. Geoffrey’s letters _never_ went unnoticed. It wouldn't happen now.

_Right?_

-.-


	14. Chapter 14 - Final Chapter

 

Wolfgan clutched the letter in his hands, completely forgetting about the freshly hunted bear in front of him, still bleeding it’s life away. Snow was falling down heavy and hard, but he never missed a hunt. One of his own soldiers had brought the folded letter to him. The message was vague and simple, but Wolfgan was already getting ordering Kalifar and another soldier to harvest what they could for him, while he walked away from the bloody scene, parchment in hand.

_...I need you to come to Calim immediately. As soon as possible, Wolfgan. _

The wordings were so very needy and lacking of any formality. He wasn’t calling himself prince, anymore. He was just  _ Geoffrey _ , and Wolfgan was just  _ Wolfgan _ . It felt intimate to the point where he didn’t want anyone else to touch it.

_ Please... _

He pleaded. No more than once and not enough, but it was there. He was asking for him, but not for something.

Geoffrey wanted him back. It was the only way he could interpret it. There was nothing left for him to say. His words were vulnerable but trusting.

It didn’t take long for him to organize his leaving. 

-.-

Calim’s sky was golden and quickly darkening as the sun disappeared, when he reached his destination.

He unmounted in the small stable of the temple, and walked up to the doors with no formality. He with few companions, as Calim was well patrolled by his soldiers now. The temple was quiet, as it was close to nightfall and near time to lit the candles. He entered, seeing only the usual dwellers, who greeted him in fear or surprise. Or both.

“Where is him?” he asked no one in particular. They all knew exactly who he was searching for, and a woman with long and brown braided hair meekly responded.

“He’s at the top of the temple, my lord.”

Wolfgan nodded and he turned to the soldiers, ordering to stay below.

He was quick to walk up the stairs. At the to he found a small door, that he had to bend to get through. The room was humid and smelled of vegetation, and he found what seemed to be a garden inside. Further by the windows stood Geoffrey, bathed in the sunset lights. He was wearing white robes again, and this time he was sure it was on porpoise.

“You’re here,” Geoffrey said, looking back. His eyes were shy and not quite meeting his.

“Of course I am.”

He walked closer, and he could see Geoffrey was completely out of his element. He wasn’t sure of himself. He had no plans and no traps. He was bare. 

“You want to come back,” Wolfgan said, saving Geoffrey the trouble. He could not hide a smile when Geoffrey nodded.

“You want to be my queen. You want to be mine, Geoffrey,” he said again. He did not expected an answer, but Geoffrey looked up at him and there was hurt in his eyes.

“You left me,” Geoffrey said, “You left me and I didn’t know what to do.”

“You never told me to keep you,” Wolfgan responded. “I wanted you to be happy.”

“You’re supposed to know!” Geoffrey raised his voice, exasperated. His voice wobbled as if he was about to cry. “You’re supposed to know these things, not me.”

“Why not you, Geoffrey?” he asked. The elf paused.

“Because… I don’t. I don’t know. I need you,” he sobbed, frustration showing in his icy eyes.

Those words were enough for Wolfgan to reach out for him. Geoffrey came willingly into his arms, and rested in them. Wolfgan felt like a wound had just healed inside him. This was right. Everything was right, now.

“Who's in charge, Geoffrey?” Wolfgan held his chin up, giving him no choice but to look into his eyes. 

“Wolfgan, please…”

“Answer me.” His voice was firm, and he was not backing down on this one. He needed Geoffrey to admit it.

“...You.” Geoffrey was bright red, and sounding defeated, but he knew it was just hard for him to say it out loud.

“Good.” 

“Bastard. I despise you, I really do.”

Wolfgan smiled, and kissed the top of his head while Geoffrey closed his eyes.

“I know.”

“You’ll take me back, now?”

“Yes,” Wolfgan answered. “You’ll never leave again. I won’t let you.”

“Okay,” he said softly in his arms, tucking his head under Wolfgan’s chin.

Wolfgan gathered his hair in one hand, giving him space to kiss around his shoulders and up his neck. Geoffrey trembled and looked up, expecting a kiss. He didn’t gave in. Those blue eyes narrowed and a pale hand clutched at his fur coat and tugged twice.

“I need you!” Geoffrey said, impatiently. Wolfgan smirked.

“Take it.”

Geoffrey glared and stood on his tiptoes, put his arms around his neck and tugged him down again.

“Wolfgan,” he said, and this time Wolfgan meet him halfway, holding his lover’s waist to him, feeling all the hard muscles and the soft skin through the linen shirt. He heard the small moans coming from his lover’s throat and his chest rumbled excited in response.

Geoffrey offered him a first sweet and slow kiss, in which he wanted to drown forever. 

-.-

 

“I can’t ride the horse again, Wolfgan.”

They were outside, ready to leave. People were watching, already forming theories as to why Geoffrey had come back to the temple and now leaving again. Some said he was only hidden for a while, to escape some danger in Hull.

Harles was watching them from the doors of the temple. He was happy for his brother, but watching him go away one more time was difficult. Geoffrey asked him if he wanted to leave the temple and live in Hull, but he denied. Harles had taken to hunting, and was now very good at it, and he knew in Hull they would not let him participate in them for his size. Also, despite his admiration for their ways, he was a little scared of hullians. Wolfgan’s rough talk might not make Geoffrey flinch, but it sure made Harles do so.

“There is a temple of ours in Hull too, Harles. There are elders in there, and I’m sure they would appreciate someone like you to help them,” Geoffrey had said, attempting to sway him. “Finding fruits and fish in hull is a challenge!”

That made him think. He was sure he would end up agreeing later, and would talk about it to the elders. Meanwhile, he watched Geoffrey balking at the thought of making another journey by horse and smiled. Wolfgan would never have it easy, of that he was sure.

“I can’t ride the horse again, Wolfgan.”

Wolfgan was waiting for Geoffrey to jump on a horse like the others, but the elf refused to move. He would _ not _ go through that one more time. 

“Why not?”

“It hurts me! From here to Hull again? Are you insane? Where is the carriage?” Geoffrey complained. He was almost pouting at him now. Wolfgan knew the submissive act wouldn't last much, but this was fast. Even for Geoffrey.

“There is no carriage,” he said. Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed.

“You won't touch me tonight, I'll be sore and tired and I'll have a headache-” 

Wolfgan sighed. Now, that was the Geoffrey he knew and loved.

“Alright,” he turned to the soldier that was beside Geffrey's horse. “Get a carriage.”

The soldier jumped at the order. 

“But-”

“Now!” He growled. The soldier complied, running to the guards near the temple. There had to be one around.

It took them twenty minutes to prepare the carriage while Geoffrey walked calmly inside the temple to bring back his trunk and some bags with books and magical supplies. The soldiers brought the carriage from the back, and quickly put the wheels in it building a very rough but strong carriage made to held hurt hullians or supplies from the border. They unprompted laid some mattress inside and a fur blanket, and looked at Geoffrey for approvement.   

Wolfgan huffed. “Well, go on in, princess.”

“You’re going to suffer for that.” Geoffrey said, smiling sweetly at his helpers and entering the wooden carriage.

Wolfgan nodded. He knew he would.

-.-

The first thing Geoffrey did when they got to the castle was to ask to see the child. Wolfgan let him and followed, hopeful that Geoffrey was already missing Ulrik. He wanted Ulrik to have someone like Geoffrey in his life, and he hoped the elf would naturally care for the him. 

Geoffrey smiled at the sight of the child, who was being watched by a servant. She bowed when he entered and muttered  _ “Siath meg _ ” when passing by Wolfgan on her way out. 

“He looks so much better,” Geoffrey said, walking closer to the crib. Ulrik was up and talking nonsense, and Geoffrey picked him up easily. He had way more experience than him, apparently. The boy laughed when Geoffrey's long hair tickled his face.

“Of course he does,” Wolfgan huffed. “He’s no weakling.”

Geoffrey laughed. “Fool, he has all the reasons to be sick right now.”

The easiness of Geoffrey’s insults were almost as relaxing as his laughter, something Wolfgan was previously not allowed to see very often, if ever. He was here, of his own volition and was holding Ulrik like the child belonged to him. Almost as if he was afraid to lose it.

He wondered if Geoffrey had wanted a family once, but couldn't have one. Well, that was in the past. With time he would learn, Wolfgan was sure, that the child was his as much as it was Wolfgan’s. Geoffrey sat in the large armchair beside the crib and looked up at Wolfgan with the child in his lap.

He was smiling at him.

-.-

It didn't take long for Wolfgan to break and Geoffrey was on his back as soon as they entered the warlord's room. 

Wolfgan circled his finger against his opening, making Geoffrey lazily spreading his legs farther.

“We just got here, I’m tired,” he said, even as he pressed back against the touch, arching a little.

Wolfgan thought about stopping, but his instinct told him that these was just one of those times Geoffrey was embarrassed about laying with him. So he kissed his mouth shut and Geoffrey moaned to the kiss, body molding to his and spread his legs more so that Wolfgan would work his fingers inside him. He kissed his way down his neck and only stopped at his nipples, giving into the desire of kissing each one and biting them until they perked, while Geoffrey undulated and trembled underneath him and his long legs drew up beautifully, trying to trap him there.

Then out of nowhere Geoffrey muttered, “You only want to use my body like a whore’s.”

Wolfgan flinched and paused at that, completely confused. He climbed up, again pinning Geoffrey down with a hard stare. He was about to deny that when he saw a little smirk in the corner of his mouth, that turned into a full smile. Wolfgan growled.

“Down boy,” Geoffrey said, and raised to fingers to the corner of Wolfgan’s mouth, bringing them upwards. He must have thought his face was funny because he latched into a full laughter. Wolfgan felt himself smile as well seeing such a genuine expression in his lover after so many years of rejection. He tucked his face against Geoffrey’s neck and bit hard. Geoffrey yelped and hit his shoulders with light swats.

“Rabid wolf, let go of me!”

Wolfgan licked the reddened skin and lazily massaged his torso, dropping his hands to Geoffrey’s backside and squeezing. He nipped at his neck again and heard the whine turn into a moan.

“I love you.”

Geoffrey shivered.

His beard scratched at his neck and he trembled. 

Wolfgan took his time in preparing him. It was so rewarding, having the man happy in his arms that he wanted it to last forever. Geoffrey attempted to timidly give affection back, and Wolfgan encouraged it. He touched his arms and his chest, exploring his skin and when he was tired of that, went straight to his cock.

Wolfgan groaned and squeezed his backside, desperately wanting to put his mouth there and make Geoffrey go breathless with shame and desire.

“I want it,” Geoffrey said, voice weak and shy. “I want it in me so much, Wolfgan.”

Wolfgan was not strong enough to make him wait. In no time, he had Geoffrey open and wet for him, and entered him slowly.

This was when he was most vulnerable, impaled on his cock. Wolfgan could dish out anything and he would take it. Geoffrey was weak and as helpless as a newborn, grabbing at his shoulders and making soft noises that aroused him to no end.

He could abuse of this privilege, if he wanted.

But the only thing Wolfgan wanted to do now that he was in this state was to take care of him.

Protect him from everything, when he couldn’t. When he wouldn't because he didn't wanted to, not right now.

In this moment, when Geoffrey retracted his claws and plucked his thorns away, lowered every wall he’d built and turned into a needy, wanton mess in his arms… In this moment Wolfgan didn't know if he had mastered Geoffrey, or if Geoffrey had mastered him.

This was the best moment.

Geoffrey melted for him, like snow.

The End

-.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading until the end! I know my English isn't the best, it is my second language and I don't have a beta but that's no excuse for no revision. So, yeah, I plan to go back to Frost and this story and try to find these mistakes but that takes time. Also, again, I hope the ending didn't feel rushed, and I admit I have a serious problem with ending chapters, it's just too hard!  
> ALSO: I'm writing another story! It's called The Wild Rose and it is m/m too. It's not fantasy, it's more towards the supernatural genre and it is set modern times. It's a suspense/mystery. I'm applying all I've learned writing Frost and Karma there, so hopefully I've become a better writer. I’ll probably work on it for another month though, just so I can present something that is actually more or less finished to prevent another sucky-terrible-awful hiatus. That means no story from me for a month or so :|


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